


Four Kinds of Marmalade

by Lilsi



Category: The Bill
Genre: Cat, Craig moves to Brighton, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, emotional luke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 22:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 132,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11723898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsi/pseuds/Lilsi
Summary: Starts just after Craig leaves hospital, follows his leaving of Sunhill, recovery and move to a new position in Brighton.How Luke copes after Craig leaves and dealing with being gay.Finally coming together again with some interference from Gina Gold.





	1. Four Kinds of Marmalade Ch: 1-10

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction was once posted at Craiggilmore.co.uk a fan site no longer active, so to preserve this story and others, I am importing them to AO3. I did not want the loss of such a large amount of amazing and wonderful fanfiction, it would be such a waste to fans of Craig Gilmore and Luke Ashton to not have the opportunity to enjoy these stories as i have. Since the site is no longer active i have been unable to contact the creators but if you happen to be them under a new pen name and want the fiction to be removed please send me a note!
> 
> Story written by - Baxter
> 
> Chapters uploaded as they were on original site, Chapters go: 1-10, 11-20, 21-30, and 31-36

Four Kinds of Marmalade - by Baxter

Fandom: The Bill  
Pairing: Craig/Luke (and a cast of thousands)  
Rating: R  
Category: appalling language, graphic sex, nerve wracking violence – the whole shebang: don’t try this at home, kids  
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters, am not enjoying any financial compensation for this.  
Note: This is a work of fiction. Apart from the characters and the framework of the story (which are not mine and for which I am NOT getting any money), and apart from the names of towns that I found on a map, EVERYTHING else is fabricated. This work of fiction borrows a bit from the original story, and unashamedly glosses over other parts that were uninteresting or that the author failed to comprehend.  
Having said that, the titles of books mentioned are all authentic.  
Timeline: Starts just after Gilmore gets out of hospital, and goes on (and on) for twenty-two months. And then for a couple of extra weeks.  
Archive: www.craiggilmore.co.uk

Winner 2003 SO33 Fan Fiction Awards for Best On-Going Serial

Chapter 1  
In the beginning.

It’s ten o’clock on a bleak Saturday morning in November. Craig Gilmore is wearing two jumpers, one T-shirt, a scarf, a pair of rather nice black cashmere gloves, clean underwear, a pair of jeans and two pairs of socks under hiking boots as he drives down to London. He is cold, and as he jabs randomly at buttons on the dashboard he finally admits to himself that the heating in his car is packing it in.

Craig has been visiting his uncle in Belper. He went to visit his uncle partly to appease his aunt, who he had seen a few days earlier when he visited his family in Swansea.

His aunt asked him to take the old man a jumper she had knitted for him four years ago but could never be bothered sending.

However, Craig’s main reason in visiting his uncle was because he was desperate to rescue a small package from his uncle’s wardrobe.

Craig’s uncle had, in turn, asked him to drop a package off in London for him. Courteous and kindly ‘til the last, Craig, could think of no way to refuse the old man, even though by now he could think of a few things he’d like to get done before he goes back to work on Tuesday.

Craig is in a fair to middling temper, but this will deteriorate to a standard bad temper in the next hour or so. He started the day cheery enough, but the cold, the bulk of his clothing, the fact he cannot find the CD he wants to listen to, the dying heater in the car and his general antipathy towards London are all turning him increasingly sour.

It is twenty eight months since he first met Luke Ashton. It is twenty-two months since he last roared at Luke Ashton to get out of his life and never come near him again.

He’s given up trying to make any sense of it. Craig constructs a new theory every few months as to why Luke has had such an impact on his life. At the moment he thinks he has been cursed to fall in love with the right person, (and that’d be Luke) but to never find him at the right time and place.

But Luke doesn’t occupy his thoughts all the time, not anymore. However, Luke is, whether Craig will admit or not, the only occupant of his heart. Other subsequent tenants never managed to close.

But having rescued the parcel from his uncle’s wardrobe, Luke has occupied Craig’s thoughts a fair bit over the last forty eight hours. 

Craig wonders if he would ever get home to Peacehaven tonight. He has no idea who he is going to see in London, only an address that his uncle had scrawled on the back of an envelope in ludicrously illegible hand writing.

“What’s his name again?” Craig had asked his uncle before he left.

“Alan,” his uncle told him, bending down with some difficulty to speak to Craig through the car window.

“Alan,” Craig repeated. “I thought you said Albert.”

“Oh, Alan, Aaron, Albert – I can’t remember now. It doesn’t really matter. He’ll remember me. Don’t worry about his name. Just give him the parce,” the old man said.

Craig smiled at him despite himself. “Will do. You take care.”

“You too, son. And remember, anything can happen. Be brave.” He put his strong old hand on Craig’s shoulder and squeezed it gently.

The combination of the old man’s kindness and battiness had helped sustain Craig’s good humour until he got onto the motorway.

The small package now sits on the back seat next to Craig’s rescued package (which he has opened), a copy of Bartholomew’s Road Atlas of Great Britain (1956) and his A-Z directory. Next to them is a small bag of old blouses & a startling handbag that his knitting auntie has given him for Lilly.

CDs clack around under his gloved hand until it occurs to him that he might have better luck if he took the glove off. He tugs it off with his teeth and holds the steering wheel carefully with his other hand, trying to sort through the CDs again, but, unable to find the one he wants, makes do with Central Reservation. He figured that he could find Automatic For The People when he stops for petrol.

The thought of having to stop for petrol makes him a little crabbier still.

And the traffic, for no apparent reason, is getting heavier and heavier. 

 

Not so many miles away, Luke Ashton is sitting on the nine forty train express from Nottingham to London. Luke has been to Bleasby to bury his father, who was interred yesterday in a scabby little cemetery just outside of the main town centre. Luke had not seen his father since he was eleven, and decided only to attend the funeral because he likes his grandmother.

Luke is wearing one thick jumper over a tshirt, a pair of jeans, clean underwear, one pair of thick socks, an interesting pair of expensive black boots that cost him a week’s rent and there is a thick black scarf from Gap wrapped around his neck. The heating in the train is working well, so he has taken off his black peacoat, which he draped over his overnight bag on the luggage rack. In his messenger bag is an mp3 player. He has the earphones fixed to his head, listening to Faithless now as he reads Catch 22. Other things in the bag include:  
a small filofax which is a mass of misplaced papers and dates of which only Luke can make sense, a mobile phone with a fairly flat battery, two biros and a large wedge of rather nice fruitcake wrapped in tin foil that his grandma insisted he take for the journey home.

There is also a small plain leather pouch that contains a small tablet of once-used hotel soap, carefully wrapped in its plastic wrapper.

Various irritating things are conspiring to put Luke in a bad mood too. He had been staying at his brother’s home in Bleasby, and spent yesterday being good natured to a raft of largely unfamiliar relatives who seemed to think of his father as some kind saint. Luke’s limited but vivid recollections of his father are very different.

“You look just like your father,” all Luke’s relatives told him.

Luke is weary from play acting the grieving son. He is weary of staying in an unfamiliar home, sleeping in a strange uncomfortable bed.

He is very weary of his life. It has been extremely difficult for him over the last few months, so he is planning to move on pretty soon. Scotland, he thinks, will do the trick. Belfast maybe. Not Africa. Not London. 

Luke is going home to a small neat flat in Sun Hill to do three loads of washing, feed a bored, lonely, unnaturally aggressive Siamese fighting fish and eat leftovers (or possibly fruitcake) by himself in front of the telly. He is going back to work on Monday for a ten day shift of six am starts, and quite possibly to a number of well-intentioned expressions of sympathy from his mates at work. He is not cruel enough to tell any of them his true feelings about his father, so the playacting will have to continue at least for a few days.

Luke has not seen Kerry for ten months, and cannot muster the interest to wonder how she is. He assumes (in this instance, accurately, as it turns out) that she feels the same about him. She is married to some social worker in Reading. She works up there now, she and Luke have nothing left to say to eachother and, as far as either of them can tell, will have no purpose to see eachother again in this lifetime.

It is twenty two months since Craig Gilmore stared at him with bitter hating frigid eyes and told Luke that he was everything he hated in a man, and demanded that Luke never come near him again.

Luke is now so used to missing to Craig that it seems normal. He knows he will never see Craig again either.

Luke stares at his book, which he knew he would enjoy, if only he could stop thinking about the past.

“Forget the past,” his grandmother told him this morning. “It’s not coming back. You’re so young! You don’t know what great things are going to happen for you!”

Her sweet wrinkled face glowed at him as she pressed the large wedge of wrapped cake in his hand. Luke looked so much like his father at the same age. It was a comfort to her to see his young lively face.

“Now,” she says, looking closely at his face, “Tell me again so I’m sure. You’re definitely a fairy, aren’t you?”

This was the fourth time she had asked Luke this since he arrived. “Yep,” he told her, “Definitely. But I prefer the word gay, or queer. Fairy’s a bit…’

“Poofy?” she offered helpfully.

He shrugged a little, smiling weakly. “Yeah. Poofy.” Do all grandmothers do this, he wondered?

“But you are definitely queer,” she checked again. Luke nodded encouragingly. “You have a boyfriend, don’t you?”

Luke’s heart sunk a little. “No, no boyfriend. But I’d like one. I’m queer. No girlfriends,” he told her again, wondering if there might be a book that would help her on this one.

“Good! I’ve got needlework on Tuesday, and I can tell Beris.” She smiled again, her pretty old skin pink with pleasure.

“Who’s Beris?”

“Beris Bradbury. She’s a horrible old cow, one of my oldest friends. Her niece Sally is a nurse, and she’s a lesbian,” Grandma said in awe. “Beris never shuts up about Nurse Sally and her girlfriend. Now I can tell her all about my grandson who’s a policeman and a fairy!”

Luke observed her closely to see if she was joking. His stare became more intense as he realised she wasn’t.

“Now you hurry up or you’ll miss your train.” Grandma was smiling, but there were tears in hers eyes for her lost son. He looks so much like him. “And you call me as soon as you get a boyfriend so I can tell Beris!”

“I will,” he promised, leaning to kiss her lovely soft cheek. She smelt of powder and vanilla. She held him tightly. Small comfort in a cold old world, she thought.

Boyfriend, Luke thought now on the train, holding the book but looking out the window. He’d had a string of boyfriends, all of them curiously uninteresting sooner or later, one of them maniacal and cruel, none of them close to what he could have had. 

And now Luke had become every horrible ugly thing Craig told him he would.

He closed his eyes tight to stop thinking about Craig again, thinking about what he’d lost. It was like suppressing the urge to cry – the harder you try not to, the more you know you’re going to.

Chapter 2.  
Filling in the gaps.

Twenty one months earlier, Gina had been to see Craig on his second last day in hospital. She’d gone to discuss his transfer with him. Craig had thought he’d end up somewhere in the Met, somewhere in suburban London, starting all over again. Gina however, through her startling web of contacts, friends and former colleagues, had by chance happened on a marvelous opportunity in Brighton.

But first she had to clear the air.

“I did the right thing, Craig,” she tells him. “He’s married, she’s pregnant. Kerry and the baby have to come first on this one.”

Craig has no strength and no interest in arguing with her. He hurts, he is tired, he misses Luke atrociously. He shifts around painfully in his bed.

“I understand. Let’s draw a line under it. I don’t want to talk about him ever again.”

She is about to laugh, then catches sight of his face. “Tell me about the job,” he says to spare her.

She takes a deep breath.

“It’s largely an administrative job, only out on the beat occasionally, but a lot of staff supervision, and a lot of people management. It’s a new project that they’re trialing in Brighton,” she told him as he once again tried to get comfortable in the too-small hospital bed. His back ached, his belly was still tender and coloured with pale bruises. 

“Brighton? I’ve never even been to Brighton,” he answered. He’d seen pictures though, thousands of pointedly pale people roasting their fair skins on the narrow beach, the fun pier, the great hunks of sugary technicolour sweets. Colourful, thought Craig.

“You’d never been to Sun Hill either and you coped okay. Look, I’m not suggesting this as an exercise in geography, I think it is a great career opportunity for you.” Her voice was stern, so she smiled a little to let him see that she was acting in his best interests. 

He smiled back with tired eyes, his face drawn and grey from fifteen days of pain and illness. It hurt Gina to see Craig like this, and, as she remembered yet again that he wouldn’t be here if she let him transfer when he asked, she lightly put her hand over his.

He winced a little again – they’d taken the canula out only that morning and the large vein in the top of his hand that had hosted the needle was still sore.

“Sorry...is there anywhere I can touch you that doesn’t hurt?”

Craig considered this for a second, assessing how he felt all over. “My right ankle is okay, as far as I know. You might want to try that.” 

“Alright, I’ll squeeze it in a minute. But first I want you to think seriously about this job.”

He thought for a minute. Her judgement was very good, and she knew him pretty well. He knew it was unlikely that she’d miscalculate on something like this. “How’s it a career opportunity? I wanted to move on through the Met,” he asked her.

“Well, this is the Central branch of the Sussex operation. It’s undergone a lot of structural changes, and it still has a lot of gaps. They have a mixed lot of old school coppers and new graduates coming through, and a badly designed set of policies that doesn’t reflect the area, or the types of crime patterns they have to deal with.” Gina gave good official jargon when she had to. She went on.  
“Look, this is off the record, and I’ll deny any knowledge of this if you try to verify it, but…,” she smiled at him in her best conspiratorial manner. “I’ve already spoken with the area commander up there. They have a huge problem with gay hate crimes in Brighton itself,” Craig grimaced at her.

“I don’t want to go on to be the token bloody poof somewhere by the sea…,”

“Shut up and let me finish,” she said crisply. “Pretend I’m your fairy godmother and trust me. Now, as I was saying, they have a big cred problem with gay crime and the gay community, and they’re keen to reflect the division’s liberal, non-discriminatory attitude in their staff. Let me tell you, the Commander, God love him, was very interested to hear about an experienced Met Sergeant with good administrative skills and good hands on experience who just happens to be a poof.” She smiled warmly at him, looking as if she had just won the argument.

Craig didn’t look convinced. He looked away for a minute, thinking about other aspects to the move. The job seemed fine, he thought, but …

Gina cut in on his thoughts.

“Craig, quite aside from the fact that this is a good opportunity for you, you have to consider why you wanted to move in the first place. You want to hang around London and watch Luke learn more about himself as he either inches his way out of the closet or goes on to be the father and husband of the year? You want to move to Barton or Stafford and dread every day that someone finds out you had it off with one of your relief on the eve of his wedding?”

She watches as he turns his head, wondering if it was the mention of Luke’s name, or what he and Luke did on the stag night or his still bruised digestive system that made him wince yet again.

“Or,” she continued, “Do you want to go somewhere pretty and interesting, forget what happened here, clock up brownie points in a good job that is pretty much waiting for you, sit your Inspector’s exam and worm your way back into the Met?”

She was, as always, right. So Brighton it was.

“Things like this have a habit of turning out for the best,” she told him as she was leaving, squeezing his right ankle through the hospital bed linen.  
Chapter 3  
The other gap

A few days after Gina had sorted Craig’s transfer by his hospital bed, he was packing the rest of his belongings and leaving Sun Hill for good.

Craig was still awkward on his feet, still a little unfamiliar in his house after so long in hospital.

He had four weeks sick leave ahead of him, some of which he planned to spend being coddled back home with his parents, the rest of which he needed to spend finding a new home in Brighton.

Craig could barely remember speaking to Luke in the hospital now, the whole incident seemed blurred with the sensation of aching cracked bones, the squashed bleeding tissue of his abdomen and the custard-thick haze of pethadine that they’d dosed him with.

He’ll come back, thought Craig, watching the saline and antibiotics run through his drip, he’ll come back. It can’t end like this. Craig waited and waited.

It seemed to Craig that he had waited a lifetime for Luke.

Day after day in hospital, sore, stuck in a too-small bed, his skin stinking of iodine, painkillers, antiseptic soaps, lukewarm water, lanolin and the sweat that festers under the cheap polyester blend hospital sheets, Craig waited the whole time. The whole time uncomfortable but thinking that Luke would come back, come back and tell him more, tell him he didn’t want to go, come back and reassure Craig that there was something worth waiting for, that Craig really meant something to him.

As it became more apparent that Luke wasn’t coming back, Craig’s bitterness and resentment grew. He hurt all over, inside and out, weary with the realisation that he gave so much to his job, gave so much to Luke, and all it added up to was this seemingly endless shroud of misery and pain.

Now at home, his heart was hard and closing. He was miserable and groundless. He missed Luke enormously.

I’m not doing this anymore, he decided. I’m not waiting for nothing anymore.

So as he slowly packed away his books, his china, his cutlery, his pictures, his dvds, he decided to cut himself off from the whole thing, to cut Luke Ashton out of his life forever.

I’m not doing it anymore.

“I love you,” Craig had told Luke in the hotel room. It was his last chance, his one last shot, and he truly believed, after the night he and Luke had spent together, that Luke knew this. He also truly believed that Luke loved him too.

Hot and cold. Once again Luke changed the temperature before Craig noticed.

It couldn’t be love, he told himself now, painfully stacking away the Somerset Maughms and the Orwells. Love turns out right, love works, love is reciprocated. Love doesn’t swathe through people and ruin their lives. Craig had never felt anything like it for anyone before, and now, in what he assumed was the aftermath, the feeling seemed synthetic, improbable. He told himself it really had, after all, been a bad crush, a stupid, ill-managed obsession. A one off, something he would not repeat again, something that he would squash and kill with his bare hands as quickly as possible.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When Luke wasn’t working through the sickening realisation that getting married had been a very very stupid idea, he spent his time missing Craig. Luke spent any left over time worrying and waiting for the right time to approach him. He oscillated between feeling confident that Craig would wait for him, and terrified that he wouldn’t. It took a lot of nerve for Luke to finally go and see Craig. 

Craig was doing his best to stamp around his flat as he packed things in cardboard boxes. He was angry, irritable, uncomfortable, but most of all hating himself for what he had done to himself. To more or less toss his whole life aside for this boy.

In any case, he was in no fit state for stamping, and his movements were laboured and inelegant.

He was kneeling on the floor, packing away books when Luke knocked at the front door.

“It’s open!” Craig called out with a still slightly papery voice. Three times they’d jammed that tube down his throat. It still felt as if bits of the tube had adhered to the delicate tissues in his gullet. He still gagged when he thought about it too closely.

He looked up to see Luke in civilian clothes standing a few feet from him. Craig’s heart lit up for a moment, but his face stayed cold and bitter.

“I’m not doing this anymore, Luke. It ends here. Just go away and leave me alone.”

“Craig, I just want to talk..,”

“I don’t want to talk to you. I’m sick of talking to you, I’m sick of having to put up with this. Please just go away.” Craig turns his face away, almost shaking with frustration and sadness.

“I just want …,”

“I don’t care what you want. I’m sick of bloody pandering to what you want. You’ve got everything you want. You got your wife, you got rid of me and my sick puppy eyes and you've got your baby.” Craig, whose back and heart ache simultaneously, thinks he will start sobbing soon if Luke doesn’t leave.

“Please just go,” Craig says, a little more quietly.

“I don’t want that, I mean, I made a mistake – I think I’ve made a big mistake!”

Craig looks at him, Luke’s admission whirring around in his mind. Mistake?

Mistake!

“Mistake?” he says to Luke, as if he is asking a simple question, “Mistake? Screw me over, tell me I mean nothing, marry someone, impregnate them, change your mind. Mistake?”

The sadness and frustration curdles into rage, and Luke stands witness to one of the few times Craig Gilmore ever loses it completely.

“Get the fuck out of my home,” Craig spat at him with barely an expression on his face.

Luke stared at him, trying to gauge what was happening, all at once embarrassed and frightened.

“What are you even doing here? I mean, why are you..,” He flicked his good hand out contemptuously, bearing Luke down with his eyes. Luke’s discomfort mounted as he clocked Craig’s growing anger. He stood straight, as he had been trained to do with aggressive people, but he felt that his legs would buckle beneath him if Craig moved any closer.

“I – I came to see how you are,” Luke offered weakly. Craig continued to stare at him, didn’t answer. “I’ve been worried for you.”

Craig lost it. “Worried? WORRIED? Oh, for fuck’s sake! Worried?”

Luke, who, though he had been on the receiving end of Craig’s coldness more than a few times, was bewildered. He scrambled for something to say, trying desperately to sort out where it was coming from, what he might to do to soothe it.

Craig caught him off at the pass. “You have the nerve to turn up here, after everything you’ve done to me, and tell me you’re worried about me?”

“I, yes, I am worried about you, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well let me save you the trouble before you even start, and I’ll talk to you.” The dark eyes grow cruel, and even though he’d lost weight over the last few weeks he still commands a menacing physical presence.

Craig draws a deep breath. The muscles around his diaphragm contracted and he felt a dozen tiny whips of pain flick throughout his chest. His face paled for a minute, making his angry eyes appear darker.

“I don’t want to speak with you. I think you are one of the most detestable, self-centered prats I’ve ever wasted time on. I think your total lack of feeling and consideration for other people is only matched by your stupidity.” Craig stopped for minute and watched the words hit home as if they were arrows. He could see clearly how badly he’d already hurt Luke, and it steeled him up to take a second shot while Luke floundered.

Luke’s face grew more troubled, he leaned forward a little, holding his hands out slightly from his body, as if he looked to grab onto something soon.

“Where’s this coming from? I didn’t come here..,I came to talk to you, I wanted try and work something out!”

“Work what out?” Craig yelled back at him, seeing his next target clearly.

“Us, work out something about us…I thought…you said...” Luke scrambling again, his courage dissolving desperately looking for words that wouldn’t further inflame him yet would make Craig understand clearly what he was saying.

“What did I say?” Craig asked him, his mouth tight, and still not taking his eyes off Luke’s red and confused face.

Luke took another breath and looked him straight in the eye, holding his voice as steady as he could.

“You said you loved me. At the hotel. You said you wanted a relationship. You said you’d give me time. I thought, I thought you meant..,”

“Thought I meant what? What did you think I meant?”

“I thought, you said...” Luke dropped his eyes, trying to figure out now what he thought Craig meant.

“What did you think I meant?” Craig asked again as he took aim.

Luke dropped his face, his mouth twitching as if he was going to say something, then thinking the better of it.

“I thought you might still mean it,” was as good as Luke could muster. He kept his face, now pale with shame and sadness, cast towards the floor.

Craig was silent, patient, waiting for Luke to look up again.

“Did you?” he asked levelly when Luke finally lifted his eyes. Then he tore in for the kill.

“Well, I don’t. I don’t mean it all and I’m pretty sure that I didn’t mean it then. You were right.” He started sneering here. “Remember when we had that little heart to heart in the locker room? Sick puppy and all that?” Luke nodded weakly. Craig went on. “Well, you were right then. It was a crush. Nothing serious, nothing important. Some momentary lack of judgement on my part, some shallow, badly-bred, drunken, trumped up slut with a nice arse throwing himself at me on his stag night and I forgot myself.” Craig glares, watching Luke’s shoulders sag and his face turning down again, closing his eyes as if it might stop the pain.

Craig gives him a few seconds, but Luke simply can’t answer him, so Craig gets ready to clean up.

“You fucked me over in more ways than I can count. You lie to me, you lead me on, you drag me into bed and then walk off blithely the next morning to marry some poor woman who you lied to as well. Now you’ve finally decided to come out and you think everything is okay, that the stupid old poof who fucking wasted his time supporting you and defending you is just going to say ‘fine, let’s do it?’”

Luke looked up suddenly, seeing where it was coming from and stared back at him, humiliated, defeated. I haven’t come out, thought Luke weakly.

“So now you’re out and ready for a relationship and you think you might try me. Well, so that there’s no confusion and you don’t keep coming around to see me, let me tell you now that you are exactly the kind of queen I detest. Arrogant, immature, full of yourself and absolutely no regard in any way for anyone’s feelings. You’re going to spend your life hopping from one bed to the next, screwing over who ever’s stupid enough to take you seriously. I’ve seen hundreds of slutty queens just like you Luke. I’m just glad now we never had a relationship.”

His voice shook a little, his mouth was dry, he drew back the last arrow and fired it straight into Luke’s heart.

“You are the last man in the world I would want to be involved with. You represent everything I hate in a man.”

Craig stopped, watching Luke’s face, dull and curiously lifeless, facing him but his eyes turned slightly to Craig’s left, as if he were thinking about something else. Craig knew though Luke was listening and that the barbs were wrenching themselves round and round his heart.

Craig cut him one more time. “Like I told you months ago,” he added dismissively, “You’re not my type.” At this Luke closed his eyes tight again and bit his bottom lip. Craig watched him intently, watched the misery and pain meld into abject dejection. Something in Craig’s heart seemed to catch alight again, but he ignored it.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Craig said after a minute. Luke just nodded, unable to look at him now.

“Well,” Craig told him sharply with narrowed eyes, “Now you know how I felt.”

Luke slowly looked at Craig one last time with sad red eyes. He realised that it didn’t matter what he said now. "Yeah,” he answered softly. “Now I do.”

“Good,” Craig shot back. “Now get the fuck out of my house and don’t come back.”

Don’t cry, Luke told himself, whatever you do, don’t start crying. Just walk out. Luke assumed that he might be able to rouse some scrap of respect from Craig if he didn’t cry, didn’t hand over this last piece of his dignity.

Luke turned around to go. Craig watched him, something awful now flickering in his heart. He watched as Luke reached the door then decided to throw in one last blow for the hell of it.

“Luke?” he called out, a little more gently.

Luke looked over and to Craig’s shame there was no look of hope, nor did he actually face at him. He just waited.

“Close the door behind you.”

But it wasn’t as satisfying as Craig hoped. He watched as the door clicked shut and then stood there, a little numb, mindful of something in his heart that would not keep still. He took another big painful breath and right there he believes that he has locked his heart shut on Luke Ashton for all time, and that sooner or later that flickering will go out.

Chapter 4  
Assumptions.

Assumptions are dangerous things. They clog good stories, preventing the characters from actually getting anywhere fast. See for yourself.

Craig assumed that Luke assumed that Craig liked him only after seeing him naked on his first day back at Sun Hill. In fact Craig had been very impressed by what he read of Luke in his personal file, and had looked forward to meeting the young man who seemed so brave. Craig liked Luke long before Luke had stepped into the shower.

Luke assumed for the first few weeks that Craig didn’t like him at all.

Craig assumed Luke was gay the first time he met him. Well, he was right about that one. 

Luke had been deeply ashamed that he was always looking at Craig. He knows I like him, Luke assumed. He hates me because he thinks I’m a pathetic closet case.

Craig in turn had assumed that Luke had been uneasy and resentful of Craig’s inability to take his eyes off him, but in fact Luke had had no idea that Craig couldn’t take his eyes off him until Craig told him. Luke was so relieved he kissed him.

Craig had assumed that Luke had kissed him in an impulsive, badly orchestrated attempt to sort out his feelings; Luke had been in fact inching up the courage to tell Craig how he felt for days before he actually kissed him. He did not assume that he would botch the operation so badly.

Luke, after he kissed Craig, assumed that he had done the stupidest thing imaginable and slunk away, unable to explain himself, unable to muster any courage to respond to Craig’s concerned questioning, his kindly soft touch or his fabulous dark eyes.

Craig, after Luke slunk embarrassed and confused from his office after kissing him, assumed that, as his Sergeant, he had just done the stupidest thing imaginable in kissing a younger man under his supervision, but he went home happier than he had been in weeks. He assumed this was the beginning. He must really like me after all, assumed Craig, it’s not just me.

Luke assumed it would all dissipate and go away if he went out with Kerry.

Luke assumed he would be happy with Kerry and for a while didn’t care what Craig thought.

Craig finally assumed that Luke was happy with Kerry and no further correspondence would be entered into on the matter. He obviously doesn’t like me at all, Craig assumed miserably.

A person with any reasonable level of intelligence would assume this pair would have no hope of ever establishing a relationship, let alone living happily ever after.

Craig had assumed, when Luke so willingly took Craig into his arms and bed on his stag night, that Luke was a little drunk, a little curious, a little horny. It took a couple of hours before Craig assumed that Luke felt as strongly and tenderly towards him as he did towards Luke.

In fact, Craig realised years later, those last few hours in that awful hotel room were one of the few times in this early period that he had really assumed anything correctly about Luke. 

Luke had assumed that since Craig had come back to the he hotel room with him that Craig was up for anything. Luke assumed that if he could have him once, if Craig would just make love with him once, that he could probably live with the series of poor choices he had made so far.

He kissed Craig in that badly decorated hotel room with more longing and desire than he had ever done anything, closing Craig in with both arms, flexing in response as Craig wrapped his strong arms around him. No gentle warm up, they lolled their tongues around eachother’s mouths, stroked eachother’s lips back and forth, using their hands to guide their faces in closer, gently biting down on eachother’s lips.

When Luke, breathing hard, drew his face back in the poorly lit room, Craig looked at the younger man’s gorgeous face closely, admiring again the fine clear skin and the lacey eyelashes. 

“I should go,” Craig said in a wavering voice steeped with regret.

“No, don’t go, please don’t go,” Luke whispered back, resting his face up against Craig’s, then moving his lips back kiss again.

Christ help me, thought Craig, as he took another sip from Luke’s lips. He then stood up a little straighter, and turned his head slightly.

“What are we doing here, Luke?” he asked him, wondering briefly if it was really likely that Luke would have any clearer idea than he did.

By way of answer, Luke slipped his hands down over Craig’s biceps, down onto his ribs, around to the waistband of his jeans, slipped a few guilty fingers in under the fabric of his shirt and gently stroked the warm skin of Craig’s belly. Craig shut his eyes.

Christ help me, Craig thought again.

“So soft!” Luke whispered into Craig’s chest. Craig kept his eyes shut as the fingers tiptoed over his belly around to his waist, stroking the skin there for a few seconds and then suddenly stopping.

Luke whispered up to him again. “Can I do this?”

Craig kept his eyes closed, the furtive hand now still on his bare skin. “Do you want to?” he asked Luke, and bit the inside of his bottom lip as he waited for the answer. There was none, and then Luke slipped his hand out from under the shirt. Craig kept his eyes his shut, biting his lip harder, the taste of disappointment rising sour in his mouth.

He was getting ready to move away and make an awkward exit when he felt both hands undoing the buttons on his shirt, and looked down to see Luke staring at his chest as he opened the garment completely. Luke gently pushed the open shirt to either side, lightly stroking his fingers over Craig’s pecs, curious, his lips slightly parted as he rubbed a nipple with his thumb.

Craig leaned in, and (being much more deft at this kind of thing) gently hitched Luke’s shirt and sweater over his head in one fluid movement. He let Luke slip his shirt off his shoulders then drew him in, swaying him gently against his body so Luke could appreciate for the first time what it feels like when a man who loves you holds you close to his skin.

Luke lowered his face and rolled his mouth over Craig’s chest, pressing his face right up against the scent, his tongue searching over the firm warm surface, drinking in the flavour of his skin. Hard and soft, thought Luke, he’s hard and soft all over. He smells gorgeous.

Oh God, thought Craig, oh God, he’s gorgeous. He lets the last few scraps of caution he was harbouring slip away, now moves in hungrily on Luke, kissing his throat with a slightly gulping sound, hitching him closer and closer, moving down his shoulder, onto his chest, kissing him more and more actively, increasing the intensity and duration of the kisses as Luke’s breathing grew heavier and his moans became less distinct.

God, thought Luke, this is it, this is what it’s like. This is him, right up against me, fuck this is good. 

Oh fuck! thought Craig, he’s beautiful. More. Gentle, gentle, gently, he tells himself, watching his teeth as he savoured the milky firm skin in his mouth, tipping Luke back slightly and searching for his nipples, sucking on the crimson disks tenderly, and as Luke moaned, increasing the pressure, feeling the nubs swell under his tongue.

Luke’s thoughts dissolved from partly reasoned sentences to blurred grasps of what was happening to him, and then were suddenly overwhelmed by his swollen pounding groin straining against the ungiving fabric of his jeans. His reflexes kicked in, and his pelvis bucked hard against Craig, who responded in kind, pushing back with powerful thrusts and moving his kisses along the side of Luke’s neck.

As Craig held him tighter, he realised that Luke’s movements were aggressive and uncontained and he recognised the youthful shapeless lust that overtakes you at moments like this.

Panting, catching his breath, he pushes his lips lightly over Luke’s ear and whispered the first corny thing that came to him as he gently rubbed his palm over the younger man’s bulging groin.

“Does it hurt, darling?” he whispered kindly, then wished almost immediately that he hadn’t said it like that. He assumed Luke would hate that kind of thing.

Luke swooned, he nodded, pushing his trapped cock up against Craig’s hand, terrified that he’d come in his pants any second.

“Want me to get you off?” Craig whispered again, holding Luke’s lower torso in close against his own body, rubbing his hand over and over the sensitive area, relishing the hard urgency underneath, excited by the greed with which Luke pushed the bulge into his hand.

Luke could only grunt in response, tipping his face over to one side as Craig quickly loosened his zip. Desire rushes over Luke in a tide, and, almost desperate, he reaches down to loosen Craig’s jeans. Craig, gently trying to ease Luke free from his tight briefs, took his breath in a little quickly, and saw Luke’s heavy eyes, his face beautiful with curiousity and arousal, as he caught his first glimpse of the outline of Craig’s cock swollen under expensive close fitting jocks. He felt Luke lunge forward just a bit, pressing his cock hard against Craig’s hand snug in his pants, and then Luke shot hard and quick, thick ribbons of semen streaming over Craig's hand.

It was over so fast, Craig holding him close, watching his contorted face, silver with sweat. Luke, shamefaced, closing his eyes, breathing through his mouth, Craig closing his face over Luke’s, kissing his open wet mouth, nuzzling his face tenderly. Luke, mortified that he had once again showed Craig how helpless he was at this kind of thing, kept his eyes closed, until Craig leaned around to whisper in his other ear.

“Fuck, you are beautiful” he told him in a slight quaky voice, “You are so beautiful”.

Oh God, thought Luke, God I love you. Hold me closer. Hold me tighter. Call me darling again. He turns to start the kisses again, their mouths heavy on each other, their tongues tasting and tasting again, their faces rubbing, scraping each other, urgent and demanding.

Luke, bolder now, feeling he has permission, slips his hand down to Craig’s jeans, tugging at the clothes, clumsily trying to remove them. Craig surges against him and responds with quick powerful shudders as Luke pushes his jeans down over his hips, stretching out the waistband of his jocks to get them off too. Craig helps him, moving his long legs so Luke could push the garments down.

He ran his hand down Craig’s abdomen, brushing his fingers lightly over his rigid cock, touching the sticky velvety glans with his fingertips, smiling when then organ throbbed under his fingers. He moved on to his balls, lightly stroking the silky tissue-fine skin, resting their substantial weight against his fingers.

Craig, glazed eyed and hungry, held Luke by the hips and kissed him again greedily. "My turn,” he whispers, his lips sticky and swollen.

“You want me to get you off?” Luke smiled, soft voiced, teasing.

Craig loves these kinds of games with lovers. “Yes, badly.” He’s smiling, eyes closed, more than ready, rubbing his lips along Luke’s jaw.

“How do you like it?” Luke whispered, pushing the flat of his hand against the hard shaft.

“However you do it,” Craig smiled back, and then realised this could be a first, that he might need a little encouragement. So he reached down and folded Luke’s hand around his cock, pleasure sparking in firecracker bursts all over his skin.

Luke’s heart swelled as he watched Craig, looking for Luke with his hands and eyes and mouth, groaning, a little disorientated, then suddenly gripping Luke tightly, the graceful strength of his body pushing in against Luke’s hard abs, yet the whole time somehow gentle and tender as he comes in shock waves of intense pleasure. Fuck I love you. The words stay in clots at the back of Craig’s mouth. Fuck I’ve loved you for so long. 

When the waves subsided Luke released him, blooms of cum over his hand. The scent is keen and sharp, distinctive. He then moves his face to Craig’s, kisses his temples, cheeks, and the corner of his mouth.

They stood holding one another close for few minutes until the gathering cold overtook the heat of their bodies. Craig reaches to the bar behind them and grabs a serving cloth from under the hideous motel-issue tea cups, and they wipe their sticky hands as best they can. Goosebumps broke out over their skin as they cooled down.

“You cold?” Craig said quietly, rubbing Luke’s skin to warm him up.

“Yeah, it’s cold in here…are you?”

“Yeah.” What to do, thought Craig. He assumed Luke would be getting tired, perhaps a little disinterested now. They’re re-adjusting their jeans, smiling at one another, a little awkward at their half-dressed state.

At this stage Craig was still prepared to be dismissed, still viewing the event as an aberration. He had no hopes yet, no assumptions about the future, no concrete clues from Luke that he should have any either. So he pulls Luke close again, swallows carefully and braces himself for his next statement.

“You want to get some sleep? You want me to go so you can go to bed?” He holds Luke close against him, still rubbing his skin to keep him warm.

Luke drew back and looked at him a little surprised. “No, I don’t want you to go.” He studied Craig’s face and then asked, “Do you want to go?”

Craig shook his head. “I’m very happy here, if you want me to stay.”

Luke smiled at him, his face bright and gentle. “Well, I want you to be happy. I’m happy if you’re happy. Stay.”

“I’m happy that you’re happy,” Craig told him. “What do you want to do? You want to get into bed?” Maybe we could cuddle, maybe he’ll just go to sleep, Craig thought. Craig is a big advocate of cuddling.

“We’d warm up quicker if we had a shower,” Luke answered, looking at Craig’s mouth, then reaching his lips up to taste it again.

Oh, shower. I’ll have some of that, Craig thought. Excellent idea. And when they finished the kiss, Craig said, “I just assumed you’d want to go to bed.”

Luke shook his head, then corrected himself. “Well, I do. With you. When we’ve had a shower.”

So Craig assumed Luke would shower with him and then change his mind and ask him to leave. Luke assumed that Craig would stay. He assumed that when he was satisfied, Craig would leave him, forget him, find someone better and leave Luke to his bad choices.

Irrespective of either man’s assumptions, it was going to get a lot better before it got worse.

 

================================================================ 

See? This is the trouble with assumptions. No one knows what’s going on.

So it comes as no surprise that, a few weeks later, when Craig had finished his tirade, and Luke went to walk out of Craig’s house, Craig assumed that the horrible things he had said to Luke would not do much damage. He assumed Luke would recover in a few hours, and disappear from his life forever.

And he assumed it was for the best. No future for us now, not after all this. Not with a wife, not with a baby on the way.

Luke, after Craig had finished roaring at him, is too stunned to assume anything. His heart has stress fractures, his head seems congested. 

Luke, Craig assumed, would recover quickly, and would just forget about him. He’ll go on to enjoy relationships with other younger more interesting men, men who aren’t possessive, orderly, hopelessly romantic, introspective, conservative. Not men like me, Craig assumed sadly.  
Chapter 5.  
Bravery

Despite the completely non-negotiable instructions Craig had given Luke never to come near him again, Luke was determined to try to talk to him one more time.

That was the thing about Luke, always charging off into collapsing buildings, tearing people on the brink of painful protracted deaths from burning cars, stepping into badly lit inaccessible buildings to negotiate with crazed drug addled gunmen who were menacing terrified victims. Luke, always assuming he’d be all right, never stopping to weigh up the consequences, always tearing in to save people from mortal danger without a passing glance to his own safety.

Rather than seek a quiet corner to lick his wounds in peace and leave Craig alone, Luke staggered off with his lacerated heart, wondering what he could do to make Craig better. What next step he might take to set the relationship right.

But first he had to go home to his miserable, confused, increasingly suspicious wife. He had a hard time remembering what he’d been thinking, getting married. When he tried to sort it out now the whole thing seemed so stupid, so unlikely to work out in any way less than disastrous, yet only a few weeks ago it seemed perfect.

There she was, this fabulous sunny-natured hot blonde who adored him, understood his job, trusted him, wanted to have his children. It seemed like a great idea at the time, it solved so many problems. Now, thought Luke with his tattered heart, it was the main problem. He and Kerry weren’t happily married. Daily Kerry grew sadder, unsure of what happening, and less able to extract a substantial response from Luke.

Worse (Luke assumed) Craig detested him because he was married. Luke found himself trapped, and no matter which way he moved to release himself, he was going to wound someone.

Luke may have difficulty in making informed decisions about many things, but he is not stupid. As his marriage approached, he had thought vaguely many times that it might not work, but he became very good at dismissing the unresolved thoughts quickly. I like Craig, he had thought often, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have these doubts. He thought sometimes that a few hours with Craig would dispel that, that if he could get a little closer to Craig it would become apparent there was no future in such a relationship, that it wasn’t really what he wanted at all.

It was just a crush, he told himself, some horrible thwarted indicator of a seamy undeveloped demon Luke had that, with a bit of effort, could be eliminated for all time.

So why didn’t it work? Why did a few hours with Craig make the demon turn into something great, a perfectly formed and valid part of Luke’s instrinsic nature? And why, he wondered for the thousandth time, did he not just call the whole thing off and stay with Craig? He had every reasonable opportunity. Sitting now in his car, feeling as if he was coming apart at the seams, he realised that canceling the wedding would have been a damn sight easier than all of this. A damn sight easier than going inside to see Kerry’s pretty face sagging under the increasing sadness he brought her.

And certainly a damn sight easier than facing the formidable Jenny Gilmore, Luke thought months later.

So the next day, Luke had spent his lunch hour with an empty belly wandering around WH Smiths. Books, he thought, Craig reads all the time. He was packing a swag of books when he tore into Luke. Maybe that would do it.

That night, as Kerry, queasy and sad, slept fitfully in the next room, Luke wrote Craig a letter. It took him nearly four hours of pained concentration, and he drew on every reserve of courage to tell him the truth, to offer every kind of apology he felt the injuries warranted, and to tell him what he hoped would happened for them. In the closing paragraphs Luke told Craig exactly how he felt about him.

It exhausted Luke, eleven pages in his careful clear freehand, only the occasional word crossed out or misspelt, all that explanation, all that regret for wasted opportunity, all that hope for something that might never happen. 

Luke folded the letter carefully, and then tucked into one of the books. He then wrapped the books in a sheet of black paper.

But at least he’ll read it, thought Luke later, as he lay with his back to his wife. At least he’ll know how I feel. Maybe he might forgive me. 

The next afternoon, armed with the same kind of blithe determined spirit with which he charged into burning buildings and other disaster sites, Luke stood at Craig’s open front door with a black parcel in his hand.

Craig was no where to be seen. Instead, a tall slender woman walked over to the doorway. 

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Luke Ashton”, he told her, courteous, curious. Who’s she? “I’m here to see Craig”, he explained.

Her face grew contemptuous. She glowered at him, her dark eyes glittering like flint. His sister, thought Luke. The resemblance was very strong and very confusing. They share the same scowl, he thought tenderly. The similarity reminded him so strongly of Craig, and how much he loved his face, that without thinking he smiled at her.

This made her angrier.

“Didn’t he tell you to fuck off the other day?” she snarled at him.

There was no way around that.

“Well, yes, but…,”

“Then what are you doing here?” Her voice grew nastier with every word.

Luke thought on his feet.

“I wanted to talk to him…,” he paused for a minute, wondering what other things he might say to diffuse her anger,

“Are you stupid?” she said, curling her mouth. “Didn’t he tell you to fuck off?”

“Look, I won’t keep him very long,” Luke reasoned, standing straight and calm, keeping his voice level and polite. “I just want …,”

“He’s already gone,” she snapped, and a wave of sadness washed over Luke’s face. It unsettled her momentarily, she hadn’t expected this, especially after what Craig had told her.

“Gone?” he said after a couple of seconds, trying to put it in to some kind of context. “Where?” Suddenly Luke felt as if the whole world had shifted beneath him.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but home.” She watched as Luke computed this.

“Swansea?” Luke asked, his voice getting a little thick and unsure.

She kept the snarl in place and nodded.

“He wasn’t well enough to drive,” Luke spoke out loud.

“Dad drove him. Look, what do you want? He’s not here, and even if he was he certainly wouldn’t want to speak with you.” She looked at him closely, and Luke dropped his face. It was confusing, she looked so much like her brother, and yet was nothing like him. For a minute he couldn’t bear to see her face.

“Is he coming back?” Luke asked, looking aside slightly, realising straight away he had asked another stupid question.

He really is thick, she thought. He doesn’t seem to get this at all. She took a deep breath, speaking to Luke as if he were an exasperating child.

“Look, he’s gone, he’s not coming back here, he’s transferred out to - well, it doesn’t matter where he’s transferred to – HE DOESN’T WANT TO SEE YOU. Okay?” She watched to see if it was sinking in. All she could see, though, was a miserable young man who didn’t appear to understanding any of the information she was giving him.

Luke put his knuckles up to his mouth for second, trying to figure out what to do now. All at once, everything seemed so pointless.

Jenny interrupted his thoughts. “Have we finished? Could you go now? I have to pack this rest of this stuff up and frankly I find you really unpleasant.”

Luke snapped out of it for a minute. “I haven’t done anything to you,” he said.

Bad move.

“WHAT? He’s my brother! You think it doesn’t affect me, seeing what you put him through?” Her voice seemed to be catching on snags of rage in her throat and her face was livid. “Christ, Craig was right. You really haven’t got any feelings!”

The thought of Craig saying something like that to someone else sent a cold stab through Luke. He stared at Jenny, bewildered by the resemblance still, and the growing realisation that Craig was actually gone. He was alone now. It seemed as if Jenny was miles away from him, still berating him. She went on in the distance, and then her voice came back into Luke’s range again.

“ You’ve treated my brother appallingly. Do you have any idea how badly you’ve hurt him? He’s a fucking mess. He’s moving halfway across the country to get away from you. And as if that’s not bad enough, there’s your fucking wife! Forgot about her? Jesus!” She stopped for a second to catch her breath, her eyes black with fury. She couldn’t think of enough cruel violent things to say to this contemptuous little git. Her face looked momentarily exhausted, like, Luke thought, the way Craig used to look at him sometimes.

“He’s just the last person to deserve this,” she said to him finally. “I just can’t understand how anyone could hurt him as willfully and horribly as you have.”

Luke squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about this and realising how many times he had seen pain in Craig’s face. It then occurred to him, for the first time, that every time he’d seen pain in Craig’s face, Luke had, one way or another, put it there. His heart flooded with love and regret. “I – I didn’t - he wasn’t…” and then the whole mess became apparent to Luke. He could see the whole problem. Every mistake he had made became crystal clear.

“I’m trying to fix it,” he said after a bit, knowing now that he actually couldn’t. Jenny launched into him to him again.

“Well, how very noble,” she said slowly. “Well, here’s the deal, PC Ashton. It’s broken. It’s way beyond repair. It’s not going to be fixed. You’re wasting your time hanging around trying to win me over, and you are certainly wasting your time if you think Craig would ever touch you with a barge pole again.” Her dark eyes flashed as him, feeding on the pain in his face. This one’s for you, Craig, she thought.

“I can’t imagine what he saw in you in the first place. I can’t see why Craig even bothered. Come to think if, he can’t now either.” She smiled nastily at him. “He doesn’t deserve to be screwed up by a skanky little prick like you. He’s way out of your league. Understand?” Luke nodded at her, looking her straight in the eye. “Good. I’m relieved to know you’re not completely stupid. Now FUCK OFF and stay away from my brother.” 

Luke held her gaze, and then it came back to him, all that courage he carried in spades. With the blind strength of all those brave people who know they have nothing to lose, he held his back straight and then charged headfirst into the flames and grenades of Jenny Gilmore’s unwielding passionate protection of her brother.

“You don’t know a thing about me,” he started, and when she went to cut him off, he raised his voice slightly and kept going calmly.

“I came here to see him because I know I’ve been appalling. I came to see him because I am so sorry, so very sorry, that I’ve done all this.” He drew a breath, saw her listening intently. God, she looked like him. “I don’t know how to make it up, I’m not even sure that I can. But I do know that I want to do something to make it better, even let him thump me if it makes him feel better.” Jenny sneered at him again, thinking she might like to hit this sanctimonious little twat herself.

“I miss him terribly, I love him dearly.” Luke felt his heart become a little lighter when he said this. It was much better than writing it. He went on. “And if he doesn’t want to see me again, well, I love him enough to respect that, and I won’t go near him again. But nothing you can say, and nothing he’s told you is going to make me not want to try and repair it.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Sneer all you want. You don’t know me, you only know what he’s told you.” Luke now handed the parcel to her. She stared at it with contempt.

“I brought this over for Craig,” he started.

“I’m not giving him your bloody tokens of misguided affections,” she growled.

“I don’t care. I’m leaving them here anyway. I came to try and tell him what he means to me, and whether he wants to know or not I’m still going to try and tell him.” Luke’s gaze hadn’t wavered, he held Jenny’s dark eyes calmly. So much like his, Luke kept thinking.

“Oh, do what you fucking well like, no way I’m going to assist you, you duplicitous little prick,” she spat at him.

Luke shrugged. He held the parcel to her, and she very pointedly shoved both her hands into the pockets of her Seven jeans.

So he bent down calmly and put the parcel on the floor.

He then turned to leave. 

“I’m not giving it to him,” she said to his half turned back.

“Not much I can do about that,” Luke said clearly.

“Then take it with you,” she said.

“No. It’s for Craig. I came here to tell him something, and I’ve done it the best way I could.” He turned to go again, but his courage peaked again, reminding him of one last important thing he had to say.

“Look after him for me,” Luke told her gently.

He looked her straight in the face, completely unafraid, and then walked away. The formidable Jenny Gilmore felt a flash of begrudging admiration for him, and for a brief second she could see some small indistinct shades of what her brother might have seen in this young man.

When she drove back to Swansea the next day, she thought about Luke again, and wondered if she should tell Craig that he came to see him. Whether she should give him the parcel that was rattling in the boot with Craig’s CDs, the rest of his clothes, some china and the diaspora of his personal possessions that hadn’t fitted into his father’s car.

But when she took the parcel in to him later that night, she changed her mind. The light in his old room was still on but Craig was already asleep. He was lying face down in his old bed only half tucked in under the duvet, the scarlet cuts and cloudy bruises of his recent attack still vivid across his broad back. Enough’s enough, she thought, pulling the duvet up over him. He didn’t stir. She watched him for a moment, then quietly tucked the parcel in the back of the wardrobe that was now filled with spare blankets and tablecloths that would never be used again. The black parcel disappeared almost immediately into the shadows of the old cupboard. Later, Jenny thought, then forgot all about it for sixteen months.

Chapter 6  
The Endless City

Luke was convinced Craig would contact him. He’ll read the letter, Luke thought, he’ll understand. He might still be angry but he’ll understand.

In the months after he left the letter (and three excellent books) for Craig, Luke’s life more or less disintegrated. Kerry lost her baby, Luke jumped out of the closet to the surprise, annoyance or disappointment of all who knew him, then his marriage came apart and flapped away like pieces of a badly made dress. He moved into a cold, lonely flat by himself and started, as Craig predicted, hopping from bed to bed, looking at first for some kind of substitute for Craig, then for some kind of distraction from Craig and, after a while, some kind of remedy for Craig.

Eventually Luke found himself unable to approach any kind of man who may have temporarily eased the overwhelming emptiness he came to regard as a fact of life, but we won’t get to that sad part until the last few chapters.

So in the first few months after Craig moved away, Luke threw himself with gusto into every new encounter, initially relishing the level of sexual freedom it allowed him and enjoying the small shots of relief from the pain of missing Craig. He chose from, it has to be said, a wide range of potential suitors all keen to get their hands on him, men around Craig’s age, men approximately the same height and build as Craig, men with dark eyes, men who were a little quieter, men who were a little more reserved.

They all disappointed him fairly quickly though, because none of them came close. None of them held him the same way, none of them had the elusive delicate taste of Craig’s skin, none of them looked at him the right way. None of them whispered the right way, none of them said the kinds of tender sincere things Craig had whispered to him.

One night with him, thought Luke bitterly after another thin, ultimately unsatisfying encounter. One night with Craig and he can make me feel like there’s no one else. Luke started to wonder if perhaps Craig had spoiled him for any other man, as if Craig’s final silent revenge might be that no other man Luke met would come close to soothing his heart.

And still Craig didn’t contact him. 

After a while, when he realised that maybe there was no substitute for Craig after all, he thought that perhaps, since there had been one great love, there could be another. A person different to Craig, someone younger maybe, someone with blonde hair or red hair, someone more outgoing, someone with blue eyes.

 

The first of these men was Mark. He was just a whisker taller than Luke, a tiny bit narrower across the shoulders, a pound or two lighter, a couple of months younger.

He met Mark at an old friend’s party. Luke, who had yet to develop any kind of functioning gaydar, was unsure as to why this young man kept staring at him with his clear green-grey eyes. The looks were alien, seemingly completely devoid of any emotion but loaded with curiousity. It was as if, Luke told him in his opening line, Mark recognised him from somewhere. Luke certainly didn’t recognise Mark.

“I think we went to school together,” Mark suggested to him. And so they had, as it turned out. Luke couldn’t place him at all, and as they went through the classes they took and the people they had hung around with, they realised that they had spent six years in the same place and never spoken. Further investigation revealed that they had lived only a half a mile apart. They must have seen eachother more than a thousand times in their lifetime and simply never noticed eachother.

Luke thought this was a good omen.

Mark was an artist with a day job. He worked in a small graphic design company in the centre of London, designing brochures and pamphlets and sometimes webpages. In his spare time he painted in oils, so his hands had a curious feel to them. Years of dousing his painted stained hands in turpentine had afforded them the texture of fine sandpaper.

Later that night he took Luke home to his small, somewhat untidy flat, in Archway and showed him his paintings. Luke had strained most of the evening not to make jokes about his etchings, not because he didn’t think it was a little funny but more because he was not entirely sure what etchings actually were. They might be very different things to paintings, in which case there was no joke. In any case, he decided, Mark was a rather good-looking bloke; if etchings were like paintings then it was likely he had endured the etchings jokes many times.

Luke was entirely unsure of what to say about Mark’s paintings. Mark, no doubt, was keen for positive feedback, so Luke had to guess at what kind of praise to offer him.

Personally, Luke found the paintings an unhappy compromise between sadistic and aesthetically offensive.

“They’re very powerful,” he told Mark hopefully as Mark leaned in on him, ready to make his move.

“Which do you like best?” Mark asked as he stood behind Luke, wracking up his nerve to start nuzzling the fine skin at the nape of Luke’s neck.

Luke swallowed as he felt the promise of affection on his skin and the wiry arms starting to wrap around him. He encouraged the somewhat shy effort by leaning back ever so slightly against the slightly bony chest. Hard, like stones on the beach, Luke thought briefly, not like Craig at all. Small details like bony chests would still spark sharp flares of misery deep in his heart. 

He turned his attention back to the ugly artwork.

“I think that one, the one with the blood and the sheep, is extraordinary,” he lied.

The painting Luke chose depicted images of a number of sheep strewn across the canvas, all in various stages of death throes, their throats gaping open with crudely painted cuts. Amongst them walked a number of young naked Adonis types, all of whom had been executed with a loving attention to detail.

Luke thought it was one the most revolting things he had ever seen, exceeded only in its ugliness and moral turpitude by its complete lack of skill. Luke looked briefly around the room at the other paintings; most of them showed animals, killed, being killed or about to be killed in some gruesome and unnecessary fashion. A few were single silent studies of naked men, all of whom, Luke would learn over the next few weeks, were former lovers of the artist.

But the kisses had started on his neck, and Mark had started moving his body slowly against Luke’s muscley back. Luke took this as a welcome cue to move away from the slaughter room and across the hall to Mark’s unmade bed.

Mark and Luke saw eachother for six or seven weeks. Luke learnt small scraps about the school of photorealism, Mark briefly found the notion of painting a half-naked policeman inspiring. But the relationship was never going to amount to much, and Luke was more relieved than sad when one night Mark, cleaning his brushes over a bucket of turpentine, declared with a suffering voice that they should see other people.

Luke agreed. People who like animals, thought Luke, or people with soft hands.  
Luke went home that night to his bed, and lay wondering for a while how things might be in Brighton. 

And still Craig did not contact him.

 

  
Down in Brighton, Craig had found him self a bright, airy flat in a small town with the unlikely name of Peacehaven. The little suburb sat flush on the edge of the sea, about four miles down the coast from Brighton.

The cheerful flat was one of three that had been subdivided in an old Georgian house just off the main road. The house faced east and Craig’s nice new place was number three, the flat downstairs at the back of the house. So, when he felt like it, which turned out to be very frequently, he could sit on the sill of the wide bay window in his lounge and enjoy an unrestricted view out to sea.

Better still, he had a small garden. I can plant things, he thought happily as he signed the lease.

He’d had never lived in a place with a water view. It seemed, at first, like an unabashed luxury that he would never get used to, though in a few weeks’ time it would become such an integral part of his comfortable home life that he started to think he could never live apart from it. 

Funny the things you get used to, he thought.

Craig was getting used to a lot of new things.

First, he was getting used to living in a place where the principle noise was not traffic or crowds or fights or aircraft, but the lovely hushed breath of the ocean.

Second, he was getting used to a body that was healing rapidly now, the bruises fading entirely, the torn ruptured tissue deep in his belly knitted closed, the cruel stripes of cuts that someone slashed across the small of his back faded to scarlet, whippet thin weals, four of them in row.

He’d had only just recently been able to bring himself to look at them properly, staring over his shoulder to view the scars in front of the large mirror in the excellent light of his new bathroom. He looked until his neck started to hurt.

They seemed foreign, some kind of dislocated markings that belonged on someone else’s body. Must have used a sharp blade, he thought idly as he stared at the precision of the cuts for the first time. He wondered who had done it, and what they thought as they tried to split him open like a sack. Why not just stab me in the neck, he pondered, thinking of the effort of tearing loose his stab vest, then cutting his flesh so cleanly. Later it would occur to him that they probably used a stanley knife, a weapon far more suited to slicing than stabbing. 

The scars on the front of his body seemed less dramatic now that the bruising had faded. Just a few small cuts that had had been stitched with green Dacron instead of the steritape that they used to mend his back. There was also a row of four neat crosses. Reminders of the sites where they kept the draining tubes that hoovered out all the clotty debris from the internal bleeding. It looked, thought Craig, as if the doctors signed their work with kisses.

There were, in all, a lot of marks and scars. Not the attractive kind of scars, Craig decided ruefully, but scary, vicious scars. He’d never felt any kind of inhibition about his body before; now, for the first time ever, he wondered if the marks would repel any future lovers.

And there were other things to get used to. He parked his car on the street, he no longer had his carspace. He didn’t know anyone in the area. His neighbours were friendly enough, but not interested in anything other than offering a polite contained greeting when they saw him in the hallway.

He didn’t know where to buy the best fruit and vegetables; he couldn’t work out the large carpark down at the large Tesco’s. He didn’t have any clothespegs, which he learnt was a problem when he did his washing for the first time and went to take advantage of the clothelines in his small backyard.

Craig was a creature of habit, a person who liked agendas and plans, a man who fretted a little if he didn’t have one in place. So it took it a little longer than he planned to settle in to life by the sea.

And he had no intention of contacting Luke.

Chapter 7  
Moving on up

Luke’s flat was initially a colourless, uninteresting affair, but after Mark threw him over he began to take more interest in his surroundings. He had never had his own flat, and frankly had no idea what to do with it.

In the first few weeks after he moved into his own place, Luke’s flat was simply the place where he slept, made toast, listened to cds, kept his clothes and checked his email.

He had never had a place of his own before, and living alone was never something he had planned to do. Now as he sat on his uncomfortable sofa, marveling at the relief he felt at not having to see the tiresome Mark again, it occurred to Luke that he did not live in a nice place.

Luke is a tidy person. The children of single parents often are, understanding from an early age that household chores performed properly are often the harbinger of attention and affection.

Therefore while his flat was clean and orderly, it offered no source of comfort to him, no kind of clue of who he was or what he liked or what he had done. As he accumulated and discarded uninterested lovers, as his job continued to alternatively tire and excite him, as he grew to live with the gaping hole he felt in his heart, he thought he needed somewhere nice to hide from the outside world. 

Luke thought about the homes he saw, the way other men lived, the things they owned. He saw clean places, filthy places, places devoid of character, places that reflected cultured interests and lives well spent.

Luke was unsure of his taste. He knew what he liked and what he didn’t like, but he found it almost overwhelming to work to a theme or a colour scheme or a plan. He liked functional things, he liked things that were sleek and subdued rather than pretty or decorative. Outside of that small perimeter, he was indiscriminate about the things he bought for his home.

So gradually, on his rather meagre copper’s wage, he started to buy things that he thought he would like to live amongst. He started with, of all things, a proper coffee maker, a wonderful silver hissing thing that made real espresso coffee with minimal effort.

Then he thought it would be nice to have plates that matched, then he decided that he preferred to drink out of pale coloured, slightly rounded mugs rather than the ugly stunted gaudy things he used now.

He liked the idea of cooking. He had never really cooked for himself, but he liked the idea of trying to cook things. So he bought a skillet. He found an interesting cookbook at a flea market. He looked at long and hard at his two saucepans and thought about cast iron. 

Then he started thinking about his bed. He spent a lot of time in different beds, and knew clearly what he liked against his skin and what he didn’t. Cotton sheets, cotton blankets, thick, checked, wool blankets. A big fat heavy duvet that could do double duty on the sofa when he felt like mooching. He stopped short of cashmere, not because he didn’t love the supple kitten soft feel of the fine wool against his skin, but because he knew that he would never be able to afford it.

And, as the months sped past, Luke made for himself a perfect refuge. It became comfortable, it was interesting, it made him happy to wake up there alone, it made him proud to bring lovers home.

Lying on the floor with a good book and marmite on toast, Luke thought about Craig’s home when he still lived in London. Luke never saw it as Craig actually lived in it, only when he was moving in and a few months later when he was moving out. He thought about Craig’s neat, orderly office, trying to recall some clues about him. Tidy, Luke thought. No photos on the desk, no chewed pens, no clues of the man himself. And, in his home, boxes of cds, books, plain uneventful furnishings. Luke remembered the framed photo of his graduating class at Hendon, a computer, bits and pieces. And the orchid. The bloody cymbidium that had sent Sean in to paroxysms. Luke remembered Craig’s face as he handed it over.

Some things are worth fighting for, he told Luke.

Distinct thoughts like these upset Luke; more and more he thought of Craig in abstract or general terms, because when he became clear and defined in Luke’s mind the pain was almost too hard to bear. He chased the clear memory of Craig and his orchid out of his mind.

He looked around his flat for a distraction, and instead was cheered by the general ambience, the burning incense, the nice music.

It’s like the gopher’s nest, he thought happily as he lay on the floor listening to The Waterboys, reading Cannery Row. I’ve made myself a nest. Now all I need is a mate.

Chapter 8  
The things you remember

Memories are strange things. They can change shape, size and colour in weeks and months, and sometimes, if you use them too frequently, they can replace what actually happened. You have to be careful with them.

Important milestones in history are prone to this. The milestone becomes a rigid piece of history rendered immobile by constant recollection, retelling and inevitable embriodery of the bald facts.

So you could argue that it is the smaller, more insignificant events in a piece of history, the ones that don’t get soiled by constant use, that survive to be the most pleasant and the most treasured.

Both Luke and Craig recall their first meeting clearly; both have replayed it so many times in their heads that it became a fairly unimportant part of their shared landscape.

On the other hand, Craig’s memory of falling in love with Luke is so precious he revisits it rarely so as not to wear it out. 

He remembers the end of Luke’s first day, mustering every effort to be as cold and unreachable as he can to this young man who, Craig believes, clearly needs to be knocked back into shape if he wants to be a good cop.

Craig had bellowed at Luke, stared him down, used every trick he knew to make sure Luke had no misunderstandings about who was in charge. Then, at the end of the day, when Craig was certain that Luke must by now loathe him, Luke bounds up to him, cheerful and forgiving and brave, to ask him down the pub.

Craig remembers Luke’s smiling face, realising as he refused, sour and unfeeling, that he doesn’t want Luke to be anywhere without him ever again. Realising that something in his heart is unfolding. Watching Luke walk away, Craig remembers Luke’s refreshing honest face, the deft pointed chin, the marvellous air of vitality and freshness he conveys. I can’t be, Craig thinks to himself, I can’t possibly be. But he knows that deep in his heart, something has already rattled loose, a small door opening and welcoming in the most liberating and painful emotion he’d ever felt for anyone.

Luke remembers different things about Craig. He remembers the first time he saw his stern cloudy face and remembers thinking he must have met Craig before, he looked so familiar. It is this supposed familiarity, not a lack of social grace, that encouraged Luke, unthinking, to stride naked towards Craig in the shower to shake his hand.

Luke remembers little things. The first time he saw Craig smile at someone, and the surprise in realising that Craig could smile at all. He remembers wishing that he could make Craig smile. He remembers Craig flicking quick, unreadable, sideline glances at him, and feeling shame spread over his face as he turned his face away from Craig. He remembers talking to Craig in his office, noticing the way he held a pen, standing close to Craig and smelling traces of the cologne he wore. Luke never found out what it was, but it was deep woody scent, something like burning good quality incense.

Luke remembers storming into Gina, frustrated at not being able to make Craig like him, all ready and sweating to lodge a complaint of harassment. The sinking, tight feeling in his chest as Gina explains how Craig managed to get some miserable git to drop a complaint against Luke.

Then spying Craig in the corridor, and being unable to face him, unable to look at his handsome inscrutable face, running away, panic-stricken. I can’t be, Luke thought, I can’t be. He remembers that fear.

Luke remembers finally mustering his famous courage to thank Craig, tracking him down the next day as he stood in the custody cells, hardly looking at Luke, hands stuck deep in his pockets. Caught out doing him a favour, caught out treating him with kindness. Luke realising how much that kindness meant, and how Craig had been prepared to give it to him anonymously. Luke realising that there are many different ways a person can show you how much they like you, yet he can’t fathom why Craig could do this when ,Luke assumes, he obviously doesn’t like Luke at all.

Luke stares at Craig’s face, ready to thank him, and a thousand tiny bubbles pop in his heart. “Thanks,” he says. I love you, he thinks suddenly. I really love you. It seemed so strange, so completely unwarranted, that it took him months to realise that it was true.

They both remember the first kiss. It makes them both sad, these days.

And both men share a strange and satisfying recollection of showers. Which, before you make an assumption, has nothing to do with the first time they met.

It has a bit to do with their reactions to the first time they met, and a lot to do with Luke’s stag night.

When Luke got home after his first night back at Sun Hill, he was relieved to see that his mother had already gone to bed. Luke had been to the pub; his skin and clothes now felt stiff with cigarette smoke and a fetid, yeast smell. Shower, he thought, shower and then bed.

But the real reason he wanted a shower was because he was horny and keen to get it off his chest. Easier in the shower than bothering about gummy sheets.

Luke’s fantasies had largely centred around unknown men, men he created, men who approximated a series of things and features he thought he might find attractive. That night, as the warm wash ran over his body, his fantasy surprised him as he remembered a real man, a man he had just met that day, a flesh and blood and elbows man with an angry face and dark, thundery eyes who excited Luke more than any imaginary dreamboat ever could. A real man who, in Luke’s fantasy, pinned him down gently, kissed his neck hard and wet while all the time stroking him all over until he came with a soft cry.

In the nicer part of town, Sean, who had been annoying Craig for weeks now, was already drifting off to sleep when Craig stepped under the shower in their neat bathroom. Craig’s intention was as urgent as Luke’s but his fantasy was more prepared. Craig closed his eyes and remembered Luke naked, turning and smiling to him, his pretty skin shining from the shower, his eyes bright and welcoming. Craig’s muscles contracted with familiar satisfying relief as he imagined nothing more than touching the sleek hard muscles of Luke’s back, of kissing the subtly defined mouth, feeling the young healthy body flex under his own until it quaked in steady pulses.

So, back to the stag night and that awful hotel room, where Craig holds his hand out under the shower, waiting for the water to reach a comfortable temperature and offer some semblance of pressure. Luke stands next him, naked too, a little cold, keen to feel warm water and warm Craig over his body.

Craig steps in first, leaning back against the white tiled wall so Luke can get the first blast of warm water. He slips his hands loosely around Luke’s waist; Luke is tearing open a small cellophane package of motel soap. He rubs it lightly over Craig’s chest, agitating a thin foam through the hair. Water is spraying close to Craig’s face, he blinks as drops splash heavily onto his eyelashes. It’s warm though, both of them start to turn a pleasant shade of pink.

They can now see each other very clearly in the bald fluorescent light of the bathroom.

Craig can’t think of anything to say to Luke as he washes him gently. Luke too is a little shy, both of them are aware that they have heaved it up a notch, stepped up to a more marked area of intimacy. Craig is also aware that Luke’s erection has not wavered at all, and that this might be an opportunity to soothe him a little more effectively. I’ll wait and see what he wants, Craig thinks as Luke rinses him down. But Craig still doesn’t expect anything, and he still is prepared to take his leave whenever Luke asks.

Luke presses the soap into Craig’s hand.

“My turn,” he smiles a little shyly. So Craig leans around and washes his back, happy to oblige the young man but also because he wants to touch Luke’s perfectly toned muscles, then run his hand over his cute backside.

It’s pretty much what Luke wants too, standing three quarters turned to Craig, just enough so Craig has unhindered access to his back. Nice, thinks Luke, so very, very nice. He surprises both of them by articulating this.

“You have a beautiful touch,” he says gently.

No one has ever said this to Craig, no one has even identified this quality in him although many grateful men had been on the receiving end in the past. It was a lovely thing to hear, and it flattered Craig enormously.

He wants to tell Luke that it’s easy to touch someone exactly the right way when you love them, that what Luke feels is not just Craig’s hands but how deeply he cares for him and how happy he wants to make him.

Too much, too soppy, too absolutely inappropriate, given the current circumstances, thinks Craig, and opts for a more traditional expected response.

“You have a beautiful body,” he murmurs in Luke’s ear, and Luke’s face flushes pink, making the small freckles on his cheeks more obvious.

Too pervy? Craig wonders, as he slowly runs the flat of his hand right over Luke’s arse, admiring and desiring. Am I being a creep?

Oh fuck, I love you, thinks Luke, turning to kiss him again, but now, in the hard white light, it is entirely different. They can see each other absolutely, see the hot flashes of desire in each others’ eyes, see one another’s mouth searching for the other, see their hands move up and down each other’s slick, glossy bodies, see the hands reach and hold each other’s faces, see their fingers reach out to rest in each others’ mouth, see each other holding their gaze as they suck tenderly on the fingers, lips twitching, tongues soft and pulpy, see their legs seeking to wrap with each other’s, see the urgency and strength with which they push and pull their bodies together. It is a little scary, it is very exciting, it is pushing Luke to the brink a second time.

Craig, ever the considerate imaginative lover, looks around the stunted overlit bathroom for something that might help them both out. He spies the complimentary bottles on the sink, just within his reach, and holding the panting Luke close he leans over through the full blast of the shower to grab the right one.

Shampoo, bath gel, irritants, he thinks. They might burn him. Hair conditioner. Bingo. 

Craig leans back against the tiled wall, takes Luke back against him and holds the bottle to Luke to open it.

“Are you going to give me a hair treatment?” Luke laughs as he untwists the bottle.

Craig takes the cap from him and tosses it across the room where it lands nowhere near the small waste paper basket.

Craig says nothing, but smiles slightly and raises his eyebrows at him. He slides along the wall a bit away from the blasting shower, taking Luke with him and sets him back just a touch.

He leans in to Luke’s left ear. “Want me to get you off again?” he asks. His whisper is soft and excited and just a touch lewd.

Luke just looks at him, watching, fascinated as Craig tips most of the waxy cream into his palm and then rubs it over Luke’s cock, smearing through his pubic hair, over to the top of his pubic bone. He rubs the remainder over his own groin, then tosses the bottle across the room, which, incidentally, also misses the waste paper basket.

Luke has no idea what is going to happen as Craig spans his large hands over Luke’s arse, then he gasps sharply as Craig thrusts towards him, pushing and pulling Luke to and fro, his cock sliding against Craig’s, the hands holding his arse tightly, guiding him back and forth until Luke’s body takes over and thrusts deeply against him, all the time his breathing growing shallow, faster, the hands on his arse gripping him tighter. He looks at Craig, hunting his mouth with own, moaning as he tries to kiss him, losing concentration as the unusual pleasure builds in peaks and his thrusts become more determined,

“Nice?” Craig barely whispers against Luke’s cheek. Luke is trying to steady him self, looking to hold on to Craig’s shoulders while every second the bucking becomes more heated, more effective. Craig leans away from him, shifting his pelvis slightly, giving Luke more room to slide against the surface of his cock.

Craig can’t help himself. “Is that nice, darling?” he asks him tenderly in a barely audible whisper, mesmerised by his beautiful face, staring right in Luke’s heavy lidded eyes, squashing flat the urge to say more. Luke sees the word darling form on Craig’s lips and the floor suddenly falls clean out of Luke’s control and he grinds into Craig, completely unused to the hot, unconfined, slippery sensation. This time his climax is slower, longer, scattering splashes of semen over Craig’s wet belly.

Craig is right with him and before Luke has time to take a recovery breath he turns them both around with extraordinary agility. Luke now leans his back against the wall, Craig thrusting at him with his eyes open, looking at Luke with unbridled adoration, coming as Luke holds his face and whispers things into his mouth that Craig can’t quite catch.

Afterwards they hold each other closely, tired and happy, wet and warm. They nuzzle their faces together and move silently and wordlessly, dripping, to lay down together.

 

It’s one of the best memories they have of those early days. Both treasure it because they end up with so many unhappy memories and regrets that become distorted and sour as they review them over and over.

Craig remembers how he held Luke afterwards while the shower still ran, and how warm the young strong body felt against his own. It was like nothing or no one he had ever known or expected. His feelings in that damp afterglow were alien, a hot rushing mix of protectiveness and vulnerability, fear and contentment.

Craig remembers how, at this point, he learnt his capacity for love was far deeper and far more intense than he understood. It haunts him now, and he wonders if he will ever feel the same way about anyone again in his life.

Luke remembers simply the word darling on Craig’s lips, then the look on his face as he came, watching Luke as if there was nothing else in the world worth looking at. It was the first time that Luke understood that he was not in this alone, that the bleary longing and helpless love he felt for Craig was actually mutual.

Darling. It’s that silly, over used, corny word that haunts Luke. Wondering if he would ever be considered precious to anyone again, wondering if anyone could ever be so precious. Wondering if he would ever be forgiven for being thought of as darling and tossing it away.

Chapter 9  
Little lives in the sea

Craig came home exhausted after his first week in his new station.

He stared in his fridge for several minutes, hungry and wanting his dinner.

His thoughts are a muesli of disconnected ideas and half-baked impressions.

Pasta, he thought as stared at the cold things in the fridge. Carbs. I need carbs. Bread. Are those tomatoes still fresh? Long week. Lonely weekend. Wonder where the boys are?

He knocked himself up a bowl of fettucine and absently stirred some lightly roasted tomatoes through it. A bit of salt, he thought, some extra flavours. There must be some garlic in here somewhere.

He was dabbing the last piece of sourdough in the rich scarlet juice of the tomatoes when the phone rang. Who had his number?

He answered the phone tentatively.

“You never write, you never call, you never send flowers, don’t I mean anything to you?” growled the sweet voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, Gina,” he says happily. “How did you get my number?”

“I’m stalking you Craig. I’ve decided that you are actually the last decent man in London.” 

“Brighton,” he corrected her.

“Europe,” she shot back. “So, don’t scrimp on all the lurid details, how’s the first week in the new job?”

He was silent for a few moments.

“What?” she pressed.

He sighed. “I just don’t know how to describe it to you.”

 

So let’s save him the trouble.

 

Craig, like all shy people, was always apprehensive on his first day in a new job. New people, the tedium of establishing authority, the tedium of declaring his sexuality, the tedium of being allocated someone else’s discarded workplace.

He was also a little self-conscious about the scars on his torso, and was not keen to make them topic for public discussion. He decided to avoid changing in the locker room, at least until he knew his colleagues a little better, so he turned up at Central Station on his first day already in uniform.

“Hello Sarge,” said a pleasant, tall, thick set and ridiculously pale WPC who was hanging around the front desk.

She caught him off guard, which she would continue to do regularly over the next two years.

“Hello,” he answered, wondering if she knew who he was.

“Craig Gilmore, isn’t it? PC Armistead. We’ll be working together. Super wants to see you. Super wants me to take you to him immediately. Are you nervous?” She spoke to him at scattergun speed.

“No,” he answered, a little confused, watching her walk out from the behind the counter and then hold out a magnetic card to let him in through the large door. When he stepped through he could see she was very pregnant.

She clocked his face and took a plunge, resting a hand on her big belly.

“I have really bad tumours,” she told him gravely.

Craig didn’t know what to say.

Then she smiled wildly at him and patted her belly again. “Not really. I’m just pregnant!”

Congratulations seemed totally inappropriate now. “When are you due?” he asked instead.

“Not soon enough,” she groaned. “In about eight weeks.”

“You must be looking forward to maternity leave, then,” he suggested politely.

“Not taking any. Oh, watch out, we’re about to walk past the PCs locker room.”

Craig couldn’t understand why that would be a problem until they actually walked past, and about six men, all in various stages of donning their uniform, yelled out to the fair pregnant WPC. She took a couple of steps backwards and stood at the doorway, glaring them all down.

“Is that him?” asked a tall, angry, grizzly looking cop who, Craig thought, would have been in his fifties.

“You know I can’t tell you that, Pete,” she answered him sharply.

“Could we ‘ave a clue, Amelia?” asked a younger, vacant looking, boy with thick nut coloured curls and dreamy wide eyes that didn’t appear to be quite open.

“We talked about this, Ambo, didn’t we?” she said sternly.

Pete looked at Craig directly. “Are you him?” he asked in his gruff terrifying voice. He seemed to have some kind of northern accent, but it wasn’t pure.

“’e can’t tell you, Pete,” said Ambo, who then looked at Craig. “Don’t tell him, Sarge.”

“Oh, alright, if you can’t tell me who you are, can you tell me where you’re from?” Pete asked, staring at Craig with hard, small, blue eyes.

“I’ve transferred from the Met,” Craig told him courteously.

“Oh, God!” said Pete, as if he was suddenly struck by the most beautiful thought in the world, “You’re Welsh!” He stared at Craig with genuine affection.

Craig was dumbstruck.

“I love the Welsh,” said Pete with feeling. Craig thought Pete might be about to cry. “I love them when they sing their national anthem.”

I hope he’s not going to sing, thought Craig, panicking a little. 

“Hmmm,” said Ambo in his thick halting drawl to no one in particular. “They’re different from the Scots, aren’t they?”

“Oh indeed they are, my boy,” Pete said, his eyes shining.

The din in the room started to increase as an animated discussion ensued, involving the relative merits of the Scottish and the Welsh. Amelia restored order.

“We have to go,” she announced. There was a general controlled expression of protestation. 

“Sarge has to see the Super,” she offered by way of explanation. That shut them all up. “I’ll bring him back when he’s finished.”

“I look forward to that,” Pete said to Craig directly. Craig smiled a little at him, not certain what was going on, and followed Amelia up the hall.

“That’s Pete,” she told Craig. “He is SO looking forward to being your best friend. Right here, up the stairs.”

It was a modern building either very well restored or purpose built in the last five years. The interior had been painted a spectrum of creams and beiges and whites, and, thought Craig, it was either very new or well cared for. There were no patches of grime, no dust, nothing impairing the fresh pale surfaces. It gave Craig a mixed false impression of being in a large environment, and that he was about to start working with unreasonably clean people.

Amelia stopped at a closed teak door and rapped sharply before she went in.

“Sergeant Gilmore for you, Sir,” she said crisply and then disappeared, leaving Craig standing in front of a harassed over groomed man who, Craig thought, was wearing too much Eternity for Men.

The Super stood up and held out his pale fatty hand to Craig. 

Craig, as Luke has indicated to us already, is very receptive to the touch and feel of things. He grasped the porky, slightly greasy, digits in his own clean hand with a barely perceptible flash of distaste.

“Let’s talk,” said the Super.

*******************

“So, so you like him?” Gina asked, exhaling. Craig thought he could smell the smoke of her cigarillos. He missed her sharply for a second.

“No,” Craig replied. “He’s a fool. But that doesn’t matter. He’s pretty much told me I can make the job into whatever I want.”

“Well, my little control freak, that must make you happy,” Gina said.

He laughed. “It will make me happy, once I’ve worked exactly how I’m going to do it.”

“What exactly are you doing?”

“Actually,” Craig said, looking around his quiet flat, “It’s really interesting.”

**********************

“We have a real problem here,” the Super said, lounging in his large seat, fidgeting randomly behind his large desk. Craig stood and listened politely.

“Oh, sorry,” the Super said, “Sit down.”

Craig sat opposite the over scented man.

“We have a problem that is no different from any other district, but for some reason we’ve been chosen as the place to start fixing it,” the Super said vaguely.

Craig half smiled at him and nodded a little.

The Super sighed for a minute, looked at Craig and just launched into it.

“Crime statistics are a huge issue right now for the Government. You know yourself that compiling and reporting crime statistics are a huge component of the job. Some clever person in the Police Office decided that the statistics would look even better if we could work out WHY people drop charges, or never press charges, even when we know that a crime has been committed.”

He stopped and looked at Craig again. Craig nodded. He wasn’t getting it yet.

“We need to work out why. We’ve been given the resources to go through every file from the last six years relating to cases where charges haven’t been laid. YOUR job,” he said, looking lazily at Craig, “Is to supervise that. You have six PCs roistered sporadically to work with you for a few hours each week to go through the files with you. Amelia, WPC Armistead, who you’ve met, will work with you the whole time.”

The super figured that was enough information.

“And then what?” Craig asked.

“I’m not concerned. What I need from you over the next couple of years is a complete breakdown of all the cases where charges weren’t laid. I need to know why; I need to know how we can change that. I need a big report to pass on to my Area Commander so that they can give it to the minister.” The Super tilted in his chair slightly.

Craig looked bemused.

“The staff you’ve been assigned have all worked on major cases and in many instances have been instrumental in solving serious crimes. They are skilled and experienced officers. The Inspector has agreed to give you access to two of these officers for four hours a week, which they will integrate into their normal shifts.”

The Super smacked his lips and appeared to have nothing else to say.

“Why not hand it over to statisticians?” Craig asked.

“Statisticians don’t work on the beat. They aren’t police officers, and they don’t know how to conduct police interviews. They don’t know anything about crime. Coppers do.” The Super turned around in his chair. Craig wished he’d open a window.

“It’ll probably be handed over to the crime stat people afterwards. But you’ll do all the hard work in the first place. And, if it’s good, they’ll use it.” The Super shrugged. “It could be a real career bonus for you if you do it properly,” he said without much conviction.

“And that’s not to say you’ll be stuck in the office the whole time. If they’re short staffed for patrols or on the custody desk, you’ll have to fill in there. And you have to liaise with the community,” the Super added.

“Which community?” Craig wondered.

“All of them,” the Super said. “PC Armistead will know. She’ll get you acquainted.”

Craig smiled courteously.

“Amelia will take you through the files,” the Super said airily. “You can report back to me once or month, or whenever you’ve got something to report.” The Super looked over his desk for a second, stood up and then gave Craig a pointed, insincere smile.

“Look forward to working with you, Sergeant,” the Super said indifferently, extending his ugly hand.

***********************

“Hmm. It does sound interesting,” Gina said in between puffs, not entirely convinced. “Do you have your own office?” she asked.

He smiled. “Sure do.”

*******************

When Craig stepped out of the Super’s office, he was struck by two things; the overpowering scent of Eternity for Men, which would stay in his nostrils for days, and the fact that Amelia was standing only a few feet from the door. She looked as if she had just got there, as if she knew Craig would be leaving the Super at that second and still not sure of how to find his way to his office. Then he remembered he didn’t know where his office was.

“All sorted?” she asked as soon as he saw her, not waiting for his answer. “Come on, I’ll show you your office.”

Craig watched her walk, a little laboured, a little stomping, her police issue shoes squeaking with each step. She was about seven inches shorter than him, with a generous full-hipped, heavy-breasted body. Even if she weren’t pregnant she would have been plump. Her colouring was startling. Pale skin without a hint of pink, clear bright blue eyes and a head of thick, moonlight coloured hair. She would have looked ethereal if she weren’t so damned pragmatic. 

He followed her along a corridor, around a corner, down another flight of stairs and up another corridor that turned out to be rather close to the front desk where Craig had first met her this morning. All the time she chattered to him, asking his age, his time in the job, where he had been, what he was doing here.

“Why transfer from London?” she asked him pointedly, walking slightly ahead of him.

He had dreaded this question from anyone and still did not know if he would ever trust anyone to tell them the truth. Fell in love with an alleged straight boy who married a gorgeous blonde, he thought bitterly. Couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him everyday and never being able touch him. Lost my ability to think clearly, lost my ability to do anything except miss him and wish I could have him to myself.

“Felt like a change,” Craig answered briefly. 

She looked at him quickly, all seeing, and decided to spare him. “Well, I hope this is change enough for you. When’s your birthday?”

“May twelfth” he answered. “Why?”

“Hmmmm, Taurus, same as me. We have a birthday book. There’s cake. You married?” she kept walking, seemingly uninterested in the conversation, but Craig could tell she was storing the information away the same way a squirrel hoards nuts.

“Nope. Are you?” he answered half smiling, trying to sound friendly and unconcerned at the question, but still trying to deflect her. I’ll wait ‘til I’ve got them all together before I tell them, he thought.

“No, I’m pregnant. One doesn’t necessarily ensure the other,” she answered neatly. “Super tell you what you’re doing this week?”

“No, not really. He mentioned some files.” Craig suddenly started to feel a bit groundless, worried he’d be sitting somewhere in this pale building with nothing much to do, trying to manufacture himself some work.

“Hmmm. there are certainly files. I’ll take you through the first bits and then take you back to the boys. You bring your lunch?”

Lunch? “You don’t have a canteen?” he asked her.

“No. They closed it down. We have a staff room, we all have lunch in there. There’re a couple of places nearby where you can get food. I’ll show you. Oh, and you have a meeting at two down at the Community Centre. Remind me to give you the agenda.”

“Meeting? What meeting?” he asked, another spear of panic rising in his chest.

“The community harmony meeting. Don’t worry, you just have to be there in your uniform. Pete’s taking you, he’ll do all the talking. Here we are.”

She pushed open a door which seemed to jam a bit and let him walk in before her. It was bigger than his last office, Craig noted happily.

But that wasn’t the best bit.

Three filing cabinets, a silent computer, a larger desk, a small selection of biros on the desk a couple of clean new notebooks, some post-it notes, and, in the corner, eight boxes of notes and files.

“I got you some stationary. Couldn’t think what else you’d need, tell me when you decide and I’ll order it in for you,” Amelia told him.

He looked at the new biros on the desk. No one had ever prepared a workstation for him before. He suddenly felt terribly lonely, all the misery and coldness that he’d had nursed over the last few months rising to the surface then being slightly soothed by this tiny act of consideration. 

But that wasn’t the best bit either.

“Thanks,” he said to her, smiling. She smiled back, wondering if she should acknowledge that it was the first time he had genuinely smiled since he arrived. Nah, let him rest, she thought.

“Not a problem. Just got to get your diary, then we can set up your electronic calendar. Back in a tick,” and she squeaked briskly out the door.

He looked around again at the clean, curiously vacant room. No dust, a chair that looked as if it could easily accommodate his height and weight, clean carpet. Empty filing cabinets, no names on the telephone’s speed-dial pad.

And then he got to the best bit.

Three blank walls and, in the wall behind his new desk, a window. A large clean window that opened. A large window that afforded a cheerful outlook over the car park, down onto the streets and lanes of Brighton then a shocking dazzling expanse of the ocean. He walked over and took in the view, all the colour and light and movement.

Craig felt a little better. The door moved a bit and he turned around to see Amelia standing in the doorway with a blue diary, watching him, smiling. 

“Nice, huh?” was all she said.

******************

“Well,” Gina said, lighting another cigarillo, “Aren’t we moving up in the world. A window, by God! And how many plods have you got?”

He went through the names in his head. Pete, Ambo, Davey, Elliott, Paul, Other Paul.  
“Six, no seven, including Amelia. She’s on the desk now ‘til she has the baby, and then, well, I think she has to work with me full time then.”

******************

 

Amelia was a little apprehensive about Craig when she first met him. She thought he was a little straight laced, perhaps a little humourless, a little cold. By the time she settled him to his office she could see he was shy, possibly used to being on the outside, inclined to risk the comfort of casual friendship for the sake of doing his job properly and dispassionately.

And he was nursing something, but she wasn’t sure what. She knew, they all did, that he had been beaten up, but the sadness about him was not from his physical wounds. He was too realistic for that, too confident to become a victim in that sense. It was something deeper, something that perhaps he had not grasped entirely himself.

She pondered it as she grabbed her purse, Craig waiting outside to be shown where to buy his lunch. Marriage bust up? No, that would be more obvious. Girlfriend? Cheating girlfriend? Affair with married colleague gone sour? Something like that, she figured. He’s been duped by, or maybe duped himself about, someone.

And he wasn’t stupid either, she thought, as she walked out into the cold air. A little, well, gullible wasn’t exactly the right word...more trusting, perhaps, in that he was so honest that he simply assumed everyone else was too, and was often surprised to learn otherwise.

He watched her walk towards him, supporting the weight of her swollen belly. She can’t be comfortable, he thought, maybe I should offer to get her lunch for her? Is that patronising?

“Do you want to tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you?” he asked a little officially.

That’s kind, she thought. “No, I need the exercise and it’s nice to get outside for a bit,” she answered.

“I know what you mean. So where are we going?”

“Not far. There’s two places, one’s horrible, the other one is okay.”  
She waited to hear which one he thought they would go to.

“I hope we’re going to the okay one?” he asked diffidently.

“Aren’t you curious to see the horrible one?”

“No, I’m hungry and I don’t want food poisoning,” he told her.

“Well, we better go to the okay one. So what kind of lunch person are you? Wholemeal bread, no butter, salad or bacon sarnie with extra grease?”

Craig laughed a little. “Depends on how hungry I am and how bad the place is that I’m buying it from.”

“You strike me as being more of the wholemeal-bread-no-butter type,” she said, smiling.

He was about to protest but realised he couldn’t. “Well, sometimes.” And, to change her tact, he started with questions of his own.

“Why aren’t you taking maternity leave?”

“Long story, I’ll give you the edited highlights. I’m having the baby for my sister. Her eggs, her husband’s sperm, and I’m doing the incubation bit. She can’t actually carry the baby, I’m thirty five and a bit worried that I’ll never get to have a baby of my own, so I thought this was a fair compromise.”   
She waited for the invariable pitying response.

Craig thought for a couple of seconds then he smiled at her.

“That’s great!” he said gently but sincerely. “Your sister and her husband must be over the moon...you know, new baby and having the auntie involved...must be a great feeling for you.” He didn’t phrase it as elegantly as he meant it, but he made his point.

Amelia turned and looked at him.

“You are the FIRST person who has said that! You’re the first person who has actually got it,” she said with quiet amazement.

Craig was unsure what he had got. He looked at her a little blankly, still not sure if he had offended her or not.

“Everybody else says how hard it must be to have to give up the baby, how sad I must be to have to hand it over and everything else. You’re the first person to see it the right way!” She beamed at him, her faceted blue eyes shiny, her skin whiter than ever.

Craig didn’t know what else to say, so as they continued on their way Amelia used the opportunity to sneak in a couple of more questions.

“You don’t have kids?” she asked him.

He shook his head, and she thought for a minute. Then it hit her.

“You’re gay!” she said, working it out.

He turned and smiled at her. “Yep. I’m a poof,” he said officially.

“Well that’s how you know what it’s like. What it means to get someone else involved.”

He nodded again, feeling a little more comfortable with her.

Amelia was right again about two more things; the sandwich shop cafe type place was okay, and Craig did order a wholemeal no butter sandwich, largely for her benefit. He also got a cappuccino, entirely for his benefit because he really likes good coffee.

On the way back they spoke a little more freely.

“Did you bring your partner with you?” she asked in amongst their friendly conversation.

“I don’t have a partner. I’m single,” was all he said. She caught the tiny snag of pain in his voice and let it go with a fun comment.

“Well, with all due respect Sarge, there’s a very active gay scene down here so you don’t have to be single for long.”

He would have skinned any other PC for such a remark, but she wasn’t any other PC.

“I’m not much of a scene person,” was all he said.

************************

The rest of his team was waiting, a little impatiently, in the large staff room. None of them had touched their lunch until Craig and Amelia joined them.

Nice manners, Craig thought.

And one by one they all quizzed him in their own way, so that Craig learnt, without much effort, why they had all been picked to work with him.

**********************

“And the rest of them?” Gina asked. She wondered if he had struck terror into their hearts yet.

“They’re nice blokes,” Craig said. “Interested in working with me, and they’re all very good coppers.”

“And I imagine you’ve already told them you’re gay?”  
Gina really admired Craig’s openness about this. She often thought that his honesty with himself was one of the reasons he was so good at his job.

***********************

“You married Sarge?” Ambo asked in a lazy, good-natured way at lunch.

Craig swallowed a mouthful of sandwich, then looked at Ambo directly and shook his head.

“I’m gay,” Craig answered, and waited.

“I love poofs,” Pete said in his fearsome voice. “Truman Capote, Michelangelo, Oscar Wilde and now you. Great contributions,” he concluded.

Craig just stared at him.

“Do you fish, Sarge?” Paul asked. “Only we go out together every so often in Pete’s boat. You should come with us.”

Craig was still caught on Michelangelo. He looked around at Paul and smiled.

“Thanks,” was all he said.

***************************  
That was the funniest thing,” he answered. “They didn’t really care. They all asked if I was married, and when I told them I was queer they just sort of nodded and then asked me to go fishing with them.”

Gina was quiet.

“Apparently they all go fishing together all the time,” Craig added.

“I didn’t know you liked fishing,” Gina said, the suppressed laughter barely audible in her voice.

“I don’t.” Craig thought about it again. The fishing was immaterial. He’d never really been included like that amongst other men at work.

“Well you sound like you’ve made the right move,” Gina told him, satisfied.

Craig looked around his flat again, all his possessions in neat order, the room filled with the faint sound of the nearby beach.

“Yeah,” he said briefly. “Enough about me. What’s happening for you?”  
Chapter 10  
What it feels like

“You single?” a tall blonde young man yelled at Luke over the noise of the dance floor in a fancy club in St John’s Wood.

Luke gave him the look he had been cultivating to great advantage over the last few months and then licked his lips slightly. The young blonde man raised one of his ginger eyebrows suggestively and moved in on Luke a little closer.

“Why? You interested?” Luke asked back sweetly.

And that’s how he met Jon, his next serious, for lack of better word, boyfriend after Mark.

Jon proved to be fairly substantial boyfriend material. Of all the boys Luke pursued or was pursued by in the lonely years after Craig left, Jon came closest to filling Craig’s not insubstantial shoes.

Jon was a policy officer in the office of the Home Secretary. That sounds rather grand but, as he was at pains to point out to Luke, he was only one of eighteen young solicitors who slogged away on reports, ministerial briefings and law reform papers on specific areas of vilification and hatred laws.

They had a lot in common and just enough differences to make it interesting. Jon was four years older, four inches taller, nineteen pounds heavier and several shades lighter than Luke. He was also a little smarter, a good deal more world weary and slightly more cultured.

But he wasn’t as brave, he wasn’t as well travelled, he wasn’t as easy going and he wasn’t nursing a heart anywhere near as bruised and as battered as Luke’s. Happily he never learnt this last fact about Luke, or he may not have hung around as long as he did.

Anyway, they were happy enough for a couple of months. They talked easily, saw movies, worked out together, drank in clubs, went to parties and shared some fun beneath the sheets. It is probably fair to say that, from the outset, Jon was the more ardent of the two and he held a candle for Luke long after Luke moved on. That’s not to say Luke wasn’t fond of Jon; he liked him enormously and sometimes felt as if he was on the brink of falling in love with him. If he had never met Craig he may well have done.

In any case, Luke always thought that the best thing about Jon was, when they lay together in the dark and Luke concentrated hard enough, it felt as if he was holding Craig.

 

 

Gina got into the habit of calling Craig every couple of weeks. She liked him, was interested in his progress at Central, loved hearing about the people he worked with and was professionally interested in the nuts and bolts aspects of his work. They talked about crime stats, the trouble with bureaucracy, discipline, how much they hated meetings, all the time peppering their conversations with small snippets about their home life.

Outside of work they both had a small circle of close friends, they were both part of warm family circle, and they had their interests and passions.

So they had enough to sustain lengthy talks and bouts of email and they liked eachother enough to move effortlessly from being old workmates to genuine friends.

Still, she was cautious as to how much she would tell him about Sun Hill. Craig never asked about Luke and in the first few months Gina only made passing reference to Luke’s progress. She’d slip in a few general but pertinent comments amidst other general news. The whole relief’s sad because Luke and Kerry have broken up, Robbie’s been in tizz since Kerry lost the baby, but Craig never responded, and never gave any indication that he heard.

She wondered for a while how Craig would feel about Luke and Jon, wondering if Craig might be ready to hear that PC Ashton was seeing a handsome young solicitor. She decided to censor that for a few weeks, eventually dropping it in amongst a general whinge of PCs turning up late “…and then there’s Ashton, ten minutes late every morning now he spends most of his time at his lawyer boyfriend’s place in Ladbroke Grove.” 

Nothing. Craig changed the subject to the on-going drama at the Community Harmony meetings.

A little later in the conversation Craig made it known, casually, that he was seeing someone called Steve.

 

The passing months shifted Luke from being an active aching gash to a painful scar that only ached a little when Craig touched it and Craig started to settle into his interesting job and cheerful home.

Craig was not very confident cruising and he held no particular interest in gay bars. But a bloke’s a bloke, and he was lonely and horny.

 

So after he had been at Central for a few weeks, worked out the carpark at Tesco's, bought some clothespegs, found the best fruit and vegetable market and exchanged more detailed pleasantries with the neighbours, he started hunting.

He had been to visit to Amelia, recovering at home alone after the birth, the baby home in London with its parents.

Amelia lives with two pointy little dogs and one large tom cat in a large, badly designed but comfortable flat on top of an old shop front down near the main strip of Bed and Breakfasts on the west side of the pier.

“You didn’t have to come,” she says nicely as she makes him a cup of coffee in her cheery little kitchen.

“I wanted to see how you are. Everyone misses you and I think they’re all too scared to visit you,” Craig explained.

“Nervous that I’ll cry, probably,” Amelia answers.

Craig looks at her worried for a moment, in case she starts to cry.

“I’ve done all my crying,” she assures him, placing a mug before him. “This is an unusual present,” she says, looking over the small interesting box he has given her.

“Grapes and flowers seemed inappropriate,” Craig said.

She looks at him, holding the gift, waiting for an explanation. It is a tiny jigsaw puzzle, made up of 1000 pieces that are so small a small pair of tweezers is included in the box. When Amelia has completed the puzzle she will have a nice, and very small, reproduction of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’.

“Well, you like detail and putting things together. And I thought you might like to concentrate on something irrelevant for a while,” Craig tells her plainly. “And I know you’ll actually finish it.”

“I’ve never had a Sarge bring me a gift before,” she says.

Craig shrugs a little. “Don’t get used to it,” he smiled kindly. 

******************

Later that afternoon, Craig thought it would be nice to wander the full length of the beachfront in the pretty afternoon light before he went home.

Craig liked the water and he loved the bright colours of Brighton’s colourful foreshore. He had been walking along the promenade down towards George’s holiday palace and stopped to lean over the balustrade to watch some silly dogs chasing eachother in circles on the beach. Dogs tickled Craig.

Steve spotted Craig first. He gave him the once over from a distance and liked very much everything he saw.

Craig had been unprepared to be picked up, but certainly not unwilling as the handsome man leaned next to him and started talking about dogs.

“Are they yours?” he asked Craig.

Craig turned to look at him and could just about smell lust on the man. He looked straight in the stranger’s blue eyes and held the gaze for a just a second before he answered.

“No. I was just enjoying the show.” He took the stranger’s gaze again for a split second and then looked away.

“More of a zebra man myself,” he answered, and Craig laughed. Well, you had to be there.

They chatted aimlessly for long enough to establish that they might like to find somewhere a little more private and then they started flirting in fourth gear.

“You seeing anyone?” Steve asked him hopefully.

“Depends what you’re offering,” Craig said, using only his eyes to show he was playing.

“What do you want?” Steve shot back. Great eyes, he thought to himself.

Craig thought for minute, and decided he wasn’t prepared to wait much longer. “Same as you.”

“You live near here?” Steve asked.

“Not far. Peacehaven.”

“You got your car?”

“Yep.”

“Then I’ll follow you.”

They barely made it past Craig’s front door before urgent kissing began, mouths smashing together, hands all over each other.

This should be good, Craig thought. Tall, clean, soft hair, smells nice, good kisser. Old enough not to be worried by the scars.

This should be good, Steve thought as he pushed Craig’s shirt off his shoulders. Big and strong. Nice arse. Willing.

And then he stopped short when he saw the bright scars across Craig’s back.

“What happened there?” he asked, touching the healed cuts with still fingers.

Craig pressed his lips together. Oh great! “I was attacked at work.”

“Attacked? Must have been a vicious bloody attack.” There was genuine concern and interest in his voice. “Anything else?”

“Sorry?” Craig stood still, looking down at the hand examining him.

“Did they do anything else to you? Are you okay? I mean, is this going to -?”

“I’m fine. Ruptured part of my spleen, kicked my intestines around.” Craig hadn’t actually outlined his actual injuries to anyone before and it felt odd now.

Steve felt around on Craig’s upper abdomen, found a softer spot, and then pressed. “Does that hurt?”

Craig shook his head slowly, wishing this would stop. Steve pressed in and let the flesh bounce back suddenly. Craig endured this test in hospital under the clumsy cool hands of dozens of registrars and interns, it hurt every time. It didn’t now. Then it occurred to him.

“Are you a doctor?”

Steve smiled at him and nodded. “Trust me,” he purred. “But maybe we should take it easy.”

“Well,” Craig was getting a little impatient now and undoing his own jeans, it had, after all, been three months. “Can I leave my treatment in your capable hands?”

Steve pushed Craig’s hands away, and started removing the garment himself a little roughly.

“Just as long as you understand that you have to do as you doctor tells you,” Steve told him as he firmly grasped Craig’s cock and watched the lustre of his eyes change slightly.

Craig started kissing him again. “Will I die if you fuck me?” he whispered in Steve’s mouth as he pushed himself closer into the man’s enticing warmth.

Steve hauled him in, excited by the soft voice and rough suggestion. “Only if I do it properly,” he promised. “Consider me part of your ongoing occupational therapy.”

It was a very happy afternoon for Craig. He was lonely and craved some skin to skin contact. Every kiss and touch was as satisfying as his eventual release of orgasm and all three were blurred and coloured with the recent memory of Luke. 

Steve left rather abruptly at ten to six but not before he took Craig’s mobile number and a confirmation that he’d be well enough to continue the treatment at a later date.

******************

The therapy continued successfully, usually during the week, which, Craig assumed, had more to do with Steve’s busy consultation schedule than anything else. As far as Steve was concerned it was no more than a casual physical fling, and, as much as Craig felt dry for want of a little emotional investment, he was happy, at this stage, to simply enjoy the attention of a talented if infrequent lover.

A few weeks later, when Steve left after what turned out to be his last consultation, Craig lay on his bed in the approaching darkness, absently stroking the pillow next him. He thought of Luke with his solicitor, wondering what they did, how happy Luke must be. Found someone else, someone smarter, and, if Ladbroke Grove’s any indication, someone richer. Well, no surprises there, Craig thought.

He worked hard at not thinking of Luke at all, but his body still throbbed a little after Steve, and Craig found himself longing to be held. Deep in his locked tight heart, he knew the only person he really wanted holding him was Luke and this thought cut him to strips as he imagined Luke in someone else’s arms. He buried his face away and realised glumly that he’d never felt so jealous about anyone before.

For a few brief moments he allowed himself to revisit the hotel room on Luke’s stag night and remember the young’s man face in the yellow lamp light as Craig held him, slowly dipping him back into the pillows. It made Craig gulp a little. 

“Jesus, this has to stop,” he said miserably into his pillow.

Outside, unbeknownst to Craig, a young female sat outside under his window, listening to his muffled sad voice. She has been watching him for days, and is planning to make her move soon.

And eighty miles away Luke is sitting in traffic in Queensway, driving to meet Jon in a bar in Notting Hill. He had overheard Gina talking to Robbie earlier that day, telling her that Sergeant Gilmore was doing very well and had a new boyfriend. A doctor! Robbie beamed.

Didn’t take him long, thought Luke bitterly as he drove past the spot where they hanged the martyrs centuries ago. Bloody doctor! So much for being in love with me and wanting to share his life with me. It then occurred to Luke that Craig wasn’t lying when he hauled him over the coals and told him he made a mistake. Maybe he was telling the truth then and lying to me in the hotel room, Luke thought. 

Out of nowhere he saw the look on Craig’s face when he held Luke gently above the lumpy pillows in that rickety bed. It made Luke’s eyes sting for a couple of seconds.


	2. Four Kinds of Marmalade Ch: 11-20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story written by - Baxter

Fandom: The Bill  
Pairing: Craig/Luke (and a cast of thousands)  
Rating: R  
Category: appalling language, graphic sex, nerve wracking violence – the whole shebang: don’t try this at home, kids  
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters, am not enjoying any financial compensation for this  
Note: This is a work of fiction. Apart from the characters and the framework of the story (which are not mine and for which I am NOT getting any money), and apart from the names of towns that I found on a map, EVERYTHING else is fabricated. This work of fiction borrows a bit from the original story, and unashamedly glosses over other parts that were uninteresting or that the author failed to comprehend.  
Having said that, the titles of books mentioned are all authentic.  
Timeline: Starts just after Gilmore gets out of hospital, and goes on (and on) for twenty-two months. And then for a couple of extra weeks.

Winner 2003 SO33 Fan Fiction Awards for Best On-Going Serial

Chapter 11  
Girlfriends

The day after Steve left for the last time, Craig left for work feeling sadder than he had in weeks. He wanted more, he wanted a proper relationship. Craig knew virtually nothing about Steve apart from his name, his age and that he was a doctor.

Maybe he thinks I’m boring, Craig thought as he closed his front door and walked down the hall.

As he walked out to his car, the young female who had just left home two nights ago was watching Craig closely again. She had been staying in a student household and was sick of noises, the smells, the poor quality food and the ugly unwashed surfaces. There was no place nice to sleep, nobody paid her any attention. A couple of the inhabitants had been physically violent to her.

She’d walked the streets, looking for a better home, and chose Craig as her successful candidate out of a possible sixty. Clean home, quiet, living alone, and no dogs. She hated dogs. And he wouldn’t hurt her. She could smell that.

He walked straight past her and over to his car, unaware that she was watching him closely. Soon, she thought, soon.

*********************

He and Amelia had been called to investigate a complaint at a surgery on the other side of town.

“Tell me again,” Craig asked her as they stepped out of the car into the hot summer sun, “Why are we here?”

“What is on your mind?” she asked him, mock exasperated. “I’ve explained this three times.”

He felt ridiculous. He hated being anything less than astute on the job. “I’m sorry. I don’t, I didn’t sleep well last night. I promise if you tell me once more I won’t forget again.” He tried a half smile.

“Boy trouble?” she asked sweetly.

He didn’t answer.

“We’re going to see a gynecologist who claims he is being stalked by one of his patients, some young woman with post natal depression. Apparently she’s trashed his office. We’re doing it because no else is available.”

Craig looked at her with his straight face. “Was it you?”

This cracked her up. Craig had decided Amelia was one of about only eight people who actually appreciated his sense of humour.

Inside Craig and Amelia crunched their way through a surgery that had been well and truly trashed. Scores of vials and paper dressings lay in various stages of destruction across the pale carpet, furniture was awkward, overturned every where you looked, a number of heavy books had been torn from shelves and wrenched, then tossed to the floor when it became apparent their bindings were too strong to tear.

Craig spoke to the receptionist, who stood with surveying the damage with them.

“Where’s Doctor...?” Craig realised he didn’t know the doctor’s name. Did Amelia tell him?

“Dr Grenville is on his way in,” the rather snotty receptionist told him. “He’s been over at the hospital.”

“Does he have an office here?” Amelia asked.

The receptionist pointed to one of three doors. “Through there.”

Amelia followed Craig through. They stood the looking for moment, both surprised that it was completely untouched. Craig walked over to the large desk, his attention sparked by a large framed photo of a man, Dr Grenville, he presumed, smiling alongside his wife and three children. 

“Is this Dr Grenville?” Craig asked the receptionist, holding the photo at a dismissive angle.

“Yes. Actually,” the receptionist smiled a little, “That photo is a bit out of date, they had another baby about seven weeks ago.”

Craig felt physically sick when he looked at the photo again. Amelia had walked over to see the photo herself and then, heralded by the sound of some mild swearing and the sound of glass being ground into the carpet, Dr Grenville himself walked in.

He stopped short when he saw Craig.

“Hi Steve,” Craig said coldly, casually, his eyes flickering, still holding the photo. The air suddenly grew uneasy. Amelia shot him a sharp glance. 

Receptionists, secretaries and personal assistants know a great deal about their important charges. Dr Grenville’s receptionist had heard men call him Steve in the same tone Craig used at least twice before and she also fielded a lot of calls from his poor wife when she couldn’t get through to the busy doctor on his mobile. The receptionist quietly walked out of the room.

Dr Grenville stared at Craig and said nothing. Looks hot in his uniform, thought Steve. Craig looked at him briefly again, his face rigid with contempt, and handed the photo to Amelia.

“PC Armistead, you can get the details from Dr Grenville on this.”

Amelia knew better than to argue, and she pulled out her notebook.

“I’ll see you outside,” he told her, and pushed past Steve though the door. Steve followed him a short way.

“I didn’t know you were a cop,” he whispered to Craig when they were out of earshot.

“I didn’t know you were an arsehole who screwed around on his wife,” Craig replied calmly, staring at the point between Steve’s eyes.

“Look, I’ll call you,” but Craig cut him off.

“You attempt to contact me again and I’ll break your fucking back after I’ve told your wife what you do outside surgery hours,” he spat. Hatred steamed inside him.

So that was the end of that.

Amelia found him standing out on the street a few minutes later.

“Nothing for us, Sarge. He won’t tell me anything, all he wants is our report so he can file for insurance.” She looked up at him, waiting to see if she had shaken him from his thoughts.

He said nothing. He was staring at a pale blue Merc on the other side of the road.

“Could you do me a vehicle check on that Merc, PC Armistead?”

She did as she was told, standing a few feet from him. He was deep in thought when she came back a few minutes later.

“It’s his, Sarge,” she said, waiting. She wondered what to say to him, wondered whether to ask him outright. When he still hadn’t spoken for nearly a minute, she offered a helpful suggestion.

“He’s parked illegally, Sarge. No standing zone.” 

Craig tightened his mouth. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have bothered, but he thought it might be a nice gesture to Dr Grenville’s wife.

“Feel better?” Amelia asked him as he tucked the ticket under the Merc’s window wiper.

“No,” he said baldly.

“Well, we should be on refs. Come and I’ll take you somewhere you can get great coffee.” 

****************

She took him to Otto’s, a small place down near the end of the lanes.

Craig sipped his coffee with a dark face.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Amelia asked him. He gave her a scrap of a smile in return, but felt like he could barely speak.

“You trust me?” she asked abruptly.

He sighed deeply and after a second or two just nodded his head.

“Just tell me. It won’t go any further.” Should I put my hand on his arm? He’s a bit touchy feely. It might help.

He still didn’t say anything. He seemed a bit clogged.

“Look Sarge, I’m not stupid. Blind Freddie could have seen what was going on there.” She stopped, and then jumped in feet first. “I just get the feeling that you’re carrying a lot around with you. It’s not likely I can do anything make it better, but you might feel better if you tell me.”

What the hell, she thought, and squeezed his arm.

Where to start. He’d just about cleared the story in his mind, ready to give a few succinct details about Grenville, and for some reason his misery came out completely inverted.

“I had a bad relationship in London. I transferred here …,” he halted, seeing Luke blithely walk off to his wedding. “He wasn’t interested. It was horrible. I miss him really badly.” Craig bit his lips for a second. “Being duped by that prick Grenville doesn’t bother me so much, well, you know, it bothers me a bit...but it just...I’ve just been thinking about him a lot lately.” He couldn’t look at her.

“Thinking about London boy?” she asked gently.

He nodded.

“When did he get married?” she asked, now lightly patting his arm.

“January.”

“Do you ever see him?”

Craig shook his head.

“Did his wife know?”

Craig shook his head again.

“It’s complicated,” he said finally.

“We’ve got twenty minutes,” she offered. He still didn’t look up, so she went in another way. He’s like a bloody vault, she thought.

“You’re a good Sarge, you know? The relief likes you, Pete adores you, and you’re a nice bloke. I really like working with you. I know you’re here alone, and I know you’re lonely.” She stopped, saw he was listening and continued.

“I’m not going to judge you and I’m not going to judge him. I might be able to give you a different perspective on it.”

She stopped again. No hasty promises. “And if I can’t, I can still sympathise with you.” She smiled at him. Her silvery hair reflected the sun, looking as if it were glazed.

The only perspective I want is that he still likes me, Craig thought sadly. The hopelessness of the thought sliced through him.

“What’s his name?” Amelia asked, seeing he was close to talking.

“Luke,” Craig said, still looking down. And saying the name made him seem closer, so he said it again. “Luke. His name’s Luke.”

***********************

 

Craig was on the late shift the next day.

He was wondering around his kitchen in bare feet, his heart feeling a little lighter. He felt a little better after he’s spoken with Amelia. He’d kept the details brief, but told her enough to get some feedback, some validation. She hadn’t disappointed him.

“Sounds to me like he was head over heals in love with you,” Amelia concluded.

It was nice to hear someone say that, that Luke was in love him. Well, that Luke had loved him. Bloody solicitor changed all that.

It was a brilliant day outside, all blue and gold. I can do whatever I want, Craig thought to himself. I’m going to drink my coffee outside. And he walked over to the back door, only to stop short at the sight of the young female waif sitting daintily on the doorstep.

“Oh no. No. No way,” he said to her, shaking his head.

She simply smiled up at him, big green eyes as clear as water.

“Go on, go away. Shoo. Go home.”

I’m home, she thought, still staring at him.

He tried to stare her out, wondering what he might do to make her go away without hurting or frightening her. He’s weakening, she thought.

“Look, you can’t stay here. You have to go. Scram.” He stared helplessly at her. If he were a nastier less feeling kind of man he would have simply picked her up and tossed her over the fence.

He squatted down to get a bit closer. She was very pretty.

“Look,” he told her earnestly, “You can’t stay. You must belong somewhere. Someone’s probably looking for you.”

He reached over to feel her neck. Nothing. She rubbed the side of her head against his hand. Cute, he thought, then caught himself in time.

“Look, I’m not a cat person. I don’t want a cat. Go away.”

The half grown grey and white tabby reached up daintily, rested her front paws on his bent knee and stretched her face over towards his. Clean, she thought, he’s clean and smells safe, like I thought. He smiled at her only a bit annoyed, and ran his hand down over her stretched back.

“Skinny, aren’t you? Isn’t anyone feeding you?” He stroked her a bit more.

“You’re not staying,” he told her. Then he went back to the kitchen and cut her up a bit of bacon. It was her first meal in days, and she gobbled it down.

“Now that’s it,” he told her when she had finished. “I don’t want to see you here when I come home tonight.” 

When he got home that night she was waiting for him on the front verandah.

“You’re not coming in,” he told her, and she stopped near his feet as he opened the door to his flat, carrying a bag of groceries.

He looked down at her and she played her trump card, cowering a little at his feet, looking terrified, staring straight up at him.

He felt dreadful.

When he pushed the door open, she slunk in ahead of him, still acting terrified. She hid in the corner near the kitchen, watching him closely. He said nothing, but unpacked some bread and milk and six tins of cat food.

“Oh all right, you win,” he told her gently.

**********************

A couple of days later he was reading the paper at the kitchen table when the cat came in with something in her mouth.

“Oh Christ,” Craig groaned at her. “I’m not going to cope if you start bringing in dead things.”

She mewed a little with her mouth full, then dropped a plastic peg at his feet.

He bent down to pick it up. It was a little sticky and chewed.

“Well, it put up quite a fight, didn’t it?” Craig said.

She waited.

“Clever cat!” he told her. She looked smug.

He told Amelia about his clever cat the next day.

“A peg?” she checked.

“Yes. A peg.” Craig sounded a little proud.

“It’s not much, is it?” Amelia remarked.

“Well, any cat can catch a rat,” he retorted.

“But not yours. Is it a boy or a girl?” She asked, and then caught the look on his face. “And don’t start trying to tell me the sex of the peg. You know damn well what I mean.”

He grinned at her, that rare genuine grin. Then it struck him that he didn’t know.

Amelia laughed. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Well, I didn’t think it was important”, he said.

“You will if it turns out to be pregnant. Anyway, you should have it desexed.”

“What? Just take it to the vet and hand it over?”

“You thinking you might post it? Here,” she said, handing him a small pile of files, “Check that all the cover forms have been signed off on these. You’ll have to sign them if they haven’t.”

“That means I have to read them,” he said, disappointed.

***********************

“Mr. Gilmore!” said the shrill female voice on the other end of the phone.

“Yes,” he confirmed, suspiciously.

“This is Lilly from the vets! I’m calling about your kittycat! She’s ready to go home!”

Calm down, thought Craig.

“Already?” He only dropped her in that morning.

“Yes! She’s already been desexed! So we didn’t have to do it again! We gave her some worming treatments and her distemper shots instead! And a microchip!”

Lilly’s overwinding, thought Craig.

“You mean, someone’s already had her desexed?”

“Yes! Not long ago! Was it you?”

There were so many flaws with the last question Craig thought it best to let it go through to the keeper.

“I’ll pick her up when I finish work. What time do you close?”

“Seven’o’clock! But don’t worry if you’re a bit late! I’ll wait for you!”

“Thanks,” Craig said weakly.

True to her word, Lilly from the vets was waiting at the counter for him when he arrived at ten past seven. His cat was sitting on the counter wearing an enormous pink satin bow. She looked relieved to see Craig.

“Mr. Gilmore? I’m Lilly! She’s already to go! Doesn’t she look fab!” Lilly was perhaps fifteen. She wore a white dress that was covered with red cabbage roses, a fluffy pink cardigan, white satin ballet slippers and a tiara. Each of her delicate ears supported a cluster of dangling silver earrings, and she too wore a pink satin bow around her neck. Her riotous curls were a reddy golden colour, but it is very likely they were not that colour naturally.

“Thanks,” Craig said briefly, completely uncertain whether it would be wise to enter any kind of discourse with this excitable teenager. He handed over his credit card.

“I’ll just put this through and I’ll give you a cat transport box to take her home! They’re cardboard! You can use them again! What’s her name? She’s so pretty!”

Craig had no idea what his cat’s name was. He hadn’t called her anything. He tried quickly to think of something appropriate.

“Peggy,” he said suddenly. Not bad, he thought to himself.

“That’s so cute! She looks like a Peggy!”

Craig wondered if he should tell her Peggy actually catches pegs, but decided that any kind of information might cause her to hyperventilate.

“Now you just have the sign the form in the file and you and Peggy can go home!”

Craig signed the form, and handed back to Lilly.

“OOOOOOOOOOH! You live in the same street as me! We’re neighbours! I haven’t seen you before! Peggy’s my neighbour too! I can come and visit her! And you!”

Craig’s heart sunk. 

“Really,” he said half smiling. “That would be nice.”

“Are you going home now? Can I get a lift with you? I could call my stepfather but he takes forever! Hang on! Are you a serial killer or a psycho? Would I be safe?” She spoke in a never-ending stream, her sentences hooked onto to eachother like a paper chain made from streamers.

“No! I’m not a serial killer. I’m a policeman.” And he showed her his warrant card.

She looked at it closely. She seemed a little disappointed.

“Still,” she said, brightening up, “I’d be safe if I went home with you!”

So against his better judgement he drove her home, provided she sat in the back with Peggy, who mewed unhappily in her box.

Putting Lilly in the back seat made no impediment on her endless colourful chatter. She talked to Craig about his uniform (“Can you get different colours if you want?”) about her part time job at the vets, the school she went to and the fact she didn’t have a boyfriend.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, curious rather than hopeful, as they turned into their street.

“No. I’m gay.” That should shut her up, he thought.

“OOOOOOOOOOHHHH!!!! I so LOVE gay people! Especially gay boys!!!! All the best designers are gay boys!!!! And they’re so much fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Christ, thought Craig.

“It’s time you were in bed. Here’s your house,” he said, exhausted.

“Bye Peggy!” she screamed into the poor cat’s box. Bye Craig! See you again! Come and visit me at the vet’s!” And she ran in side, her dress billowing around her.

Peggy was relieved to be home.

“Let’s get this bloody poofy bow off you,” he said to her gently when he lifted her out of the box.

“So, are you going to tell me where you came from?” he asked her as she clawed and bit at the pink ribbon. “Whose pet were you?” He wondered briefly if he should advertise that he had a lost cat, see if the owners came to collect her. 

He thought about it, dragging the ribbon across the floor or her to chase. She played along for a bit then flopped down on the floor next to him, stretching her paw out to touch his hand.

“You’re better off here,” he decided.

Chapter 12  
Expectations

“What did you expect?” Amelia asked Craig months later. “What did you honestly, honestly, expect to happen?”

Craig can’t answer her.

“Well, what did you expect to happen?” Asks the confused inept counsellor at the Gay Men’s Health Center where Luke has gone in desperation to find some kind of solution to his misery. It is almost a year since he has seen Craig.

Luke can’t answer the counsellor.

It would be easier for both of them to explain what they didn’t expect.

 

The last couple of hours that Luke and Craig spent together as lovers are really the definitive point of their relationship. Neither can think about it for very long, and after a few days both doubt that it actually could have happened.

Luke doesn’t mention it in his letter, Craig makes no reference to it in his final brutal tirade at Luke. They never tell another person about it. 

As we know, Craig had gone into that hotel room with no tangible expectations. Until he lay down with Luke, he had figured that everything he got was a bonus, a small piece of Luke he got to keep forever. He expected that he’d ache for bit for a couple of weeks and then continue to get on with on with his life. Other boys, other interests, other things to do. Luke would be married, Craig could cope. He’d had his heart broken before and besides, he told himself, he’d already been through the worst.

And we know Luke had encouraged Craig to stay because he felt he could get something out of his system. He expected to wake up the next morning and find himself cleansed of any feeling for Craig, any desire to sleep with men, that he would be able to marry, settle down, father children and enjoy a joyful relationship with his pretty wife.

Neither man had prepared any contingency plans in the event of these expectations not being fulfilled.

They walk over to the bed still damp, their skins drying in the controlled air of the hotel. Luke sits propped up against the pillows, Craig sits a little awkwardly to his side on the edge of the bed.

“You tired?” he asks Luke.

“A bit. You?”

“Mmm, a bit.” He’s silent for a minute, and then he says, “I think I should go.”

Luke looks at him crestfallen. “Don’t go. Stay a bit longer. Stay with me. Don’t go.” In his heart he thinks, I may never get to touch you again. The thought causes him instant grief. “Stay.”

Luke pulls him over a little bit and at that moment any chance Craig had of walking away from this unscathed disintegrates.

Craig sits up on the bed facing Luke, who straightens up to meet him. They draw their knees up, and edge in to one another. They twine their bended knees around eachother comfortably, and then Luke hooks his arms around Craig’s neck, who in turn holds Luke around his waist.

Craig can’t think of anything to say. He goes through a small menu of possibilities in his mind; your wedding’s tomorrow, we’ve just got eachother off twice, do you still think you’re straight, I’ve just humped one of my subordinates in the shower. Everything is wrong. He doesn’t want to raise the spectre of the approaching marriage, he doesn’t want to talk about the possible future of any relationship. He still doesn’t think there is one.

He wants to look at Luke, stretching a little in his arms, smiling into his eyes.

Luke’s thoughts and concerns are far less structured. I feel fantastic, he thinks, I feel great. He’s fantastic. God he is magic.

Luke has not given his approaching marriage a second thought for some hours.

These simple thoughts, or lack of them, are reflected in Luke’s eyes and Craig feels a small wave of love break over him, as if he has just waded into the shallow lips of the sea.

“What do you want to do?” he asks Luke finally.

“I want to sit here and look at you,” he replies simply. As an afterthought he adds, “And you can look at me.” The light from the small tablelamp beside them seems to have cast a pale yellow glow over them both. Craig thinks he sees topaz flecks in Luke’s eye’s; Luke thinks Craig’s skin has a golden quality to it.

“We can look at each other,” Luke concludes.

So Craig looks at him, smiling straight into his eyes, waiting to see what he will do. Luke laughs a little, and stretches back. His chest expands, his flat abs flex up towards Craig, who holds him and supports his weight.

It becomes a bit of game between them, to see who overbalances first.

“You’ll drop me,” Luke smiles at Craig, stretching back a tad further. Craig smiles at him, then takes an appreciative look at Luke’s torso.

“What?” says Luke. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Craig hesitates. He doesn’t want to sound wet. “You look sexy like this. Strong. I like to see how strong you are.”

Luke looks into his eyes and then it suddenly hits him. He feels completely in love, he feels completely loved. This is it, this is the person for me. He’s wonderful. He’s strong and gentle and smart. He’s holding me, admiring me, he has the most beautiful face I have ever seen.

Craig sees the change in Luke’s face and it hits him too, clarifying everything he felt or denied about this young man over the last few months. It suddenly seemed plain – here he is. This is the person who I thought didn’t actually exist. He’s wonderful. He’s brave and sweet and gorgeous. He’s in my arms, he’s smiling at me, he trusts me.

He continues to hold Luke’s weight as he bends back, suspending him just about twelve inches about the pillow. Both men are straining now, Craig’s biceps are bulging. But neither yields.

“You’ll drop me,” Luke says out of nowhere and Craig, who still holds his eyes, shakes his head slightly and slowly. He then rises slightly on his knees and slowly lowers Luke down on to the pillows.

They are gazing at eachother with intense love.

They stare at eachother deeply, unable to break the spell.

Craig lies astride Luke, his arms cradling around his head like a halo. Luke moves his hands up to Craig’s face, as if he seeks to hold his head in place.

Still they stare.

Then Craig leans down very slowly, very gently, kissing Luke’s lips briefly and softly. It lasts only a second or so but it seems likes minutes. He draws his face back, neither can speak. The air around them seems heavy, potent, charged. 

Luke moves his eyes and starts to stroke Craig’s face, tracing his fingers around the dark eyes, noticing their rich colour for the first time. He moves his fingers along the cheekbones, down the side of his face to his mouth and he caresses the surface that just touched his own lips.

He looks closely at the areas of Craig’s face he is touching and appears to be deep in thought. Craig very lightly rubs his lips over the tips of Luke’s fingers, and their eyes meet again. It’s still there, heavy as syrup, all around them.

Craig lifts his hand to take Luke’s and they fold their fingers together, neither smiling. It is as if they have connected in a way that they actually weren’t supposed to and, now that they have, are unable to break free.

Craig leans over and starts to kiss him, lightly down his face, along his neck, over his shoulders and chest. Luke stretches his body as Craig holds him around the shoulders, supporting his back, lifting him into the sitting position inch by inch.

The kisses remain soft, moth like, as Craig makes a path down Luke’s body, aware only how much he loves this young man and how much he wants to illustrate this love. Every kiss is different, Luke feels each one as keenly as if Craig were branding him.

By the time Craig reaches his cock Luke is shimmering with sweat, his back forming a crescent towards the moist hot mouth. Craig runs his tongue and lips over the powdery fine creases at the junction of Luke’s thighs, rubbing his rough cheek across the pads of flesh at his inner thighs, lapping softly at the oversensitive testicles that are already exhausted from the first two rounds. Luke gasps at each kiss, each taste, stretching his hand down to touch Craig’s face, trying to tell him something but unable to get beyond his name.

Craig takes him little by little in his mouth then holds him, sucking gently and then powerfully, a little rough and then hard until Luke looks down briefly and cries out as his hips rock forward. His body is already spent, he feels something close to pain as he starts to come and then a completely unfamiliar shocking relief right through, down his cock, through his groin, right down his thighs, right up through his chest. 

It’s not going to stop, thinks Luke blindly as fires seem to flare along every nerve ending, it’s not going to stop. I want to stay like this forever, I want to feel this vulnerable to him forever.

His eyes close, he slumps back a little, exhausted, and the next thing he remembers is the sweet bleachy scent on Craig’s breath as he lies down beside him again.

It takes Luke a moment to open his eyes, to focus on Craig next to him, who just looks at him grave and tenderly, but not quite touching.

“Hold me,” Luke tells him, his face full of love. He doesn’t have to ask twice. The whole thing now comes crushing down in Craig’s heart, and he swiftly rolls him into his arms.

His mine, thinks Craig, he’s mine. He’s chosen me. Craig wraps his arms around him a little tighter, his heart bursting. He smiles against Luke’s hair, rubbing his face against his head. Anything, Craig thinks, anything you want. I’ll wait a thousand years, I will give you every last thing you want. Just ask me. Tell me what you want and it is yours. I’ll never let anything hurt you, I’ll never leave you. Just say it. I’m yours forever.

Craig feels the exhausted man grow heavy against him and he very gently rocks him against his chest and shoulders. He wants to keep him this safe forever. 

The gentle warmth overtakes Luke and he falls asleep, comfortably enclosed against the strong chest. His shallow breathing lulls Craig in too and he drops off, only seconds later, breathing in time to Luke.

When they wake in the morning the hard natural light seems to have wrenched them apart.

 

 

  
“I don’t know,” Craig answers Amelia. “I don’t know. I just thought he felt the same way as me. I don’t even know why I felt like that.”

“I don’t know,” Luke tells the counsellor. “I just thought it would work itself out. I don’t know, I don’t know why I did it to him.” 

 

 

After Luke has walked away, Craig is dazed. He goes to the bathroom, unsure exactly what he is doing and runs the tap over the sink. He looks around for the soap. There was soap last night. The memory of Luke washing his chest goes through him like shards of broken glass. He washes in the running water to distract himself, rinsing and rinsing his face until the water starts to irritate him.

This can’t be happening, he thinks, to have had everything and then nothing. He tries to recognise what exactly he is feeling, holding his hand over his belly, as if this might give him some clue. Out of the blue he remembers, as a probationer, being taken to an old warehouse site where two bodies had been recovered. The idle disinterested chatter around him, people just getting on with their job amongst two sets of long dead human remains.

He remembers the revulsion he felt as he looked down and saw for the first time the vast empty expanse of the human abdominal cavity, the pitiful place below the jutting ribs that seems so empty when the guts and fluids have rotted away.

That’s how Craig feels, as if Luke Ashton has blown a whole right though him and then walked away and left him gaping open, pathetic and pointless in a bloodless hotel room.

“I’m going to marry the woman I love,” Luke repeats to himself pointedly, walking away across the car park. He looks straight ahead, shame and regret holding him fast from revisiting the last few hours. As he walks a small tablet of soap in his suit pocket bangs lightly against the top of his thigh.

Chapter 13  
Talking it over.

Although he had appreciated Amelia’s interest in his miserable Ashton experience, Craig didn’t feel the need to talk in any detail about the incident. It was intensely personal to him and one that he did not want to share with anyone.

Craig felt he had nothing to gain by discussing it endlessly, he had already taken his course of action and, as far as he was concerned, was working through it. He seriously believed at this stage that he was getting over Luke.

Certainly Luke’s over me, Craig had told himself.

But Luke was not so lucky. Craig was his first great love and the size of this love was commensurate with the amount of unresolved problems it now caused Luke.

As the months wore on and the pain of losing Craig showed no sign of abating, Luke did a roll call of who he could talk to, who might be able to offer him some genuine concerned advice.

None of his mates. No way he could approach Tony or Gary or Nick. No way. Luke knew that ultimately they would probably at least listen, but they would never be able to help him, and they would never treat him the same again.

He thought briefly of trying to speak to Gina, but she was a good friend of Craig’s. Luke saw her most days and despite the fact that she was, well, cordial to him, she never attempted to engage Luke in any kind of discourse outside of his work or her supervision of his work.

For a while he thought he might try his mum, Luke thought she was the probably the only person who had not thought any less of him since his marriage imploded, but he could not begin to think how he might actually try and explain his sadness to her.

There really wasn’t any one else. It was hardly a topic for a lover and after he broke up with Jon and found himself back in that tedious brittle world of casual sex, there was no one. No trust, no good-natured discourse, no trace of anyone to fall back on.

Luke lay in bed by himself on a cold October night, wondering how he could get to this stage in his life and have no real friends. He tried again, thinking through all the people he might be able to talk to.

No one, really.

So a few weeks later he went down to the Gay Men’s Health Centre to talk to one of the counsellors there. It was not very successful. He came away feeling more to blame than ever, the engineer of his own depression.

It’s all my fault, he thought on the way home. It’s all my fault. I did this all myself. I did this to myself, not to mention the harm I did to Kerry and Craig.

Luke had nothing to work with, no clue as to how he might move on or learn from what had happened. So he went out looking for someone else, fostering the bird brained idea that he might be able to find a lover who would nurse him better.

His attitude towards men became a little unfocused and misguided. He became slightly less choosy, casting his net wider, looking a little more earnestly for someone who might be able to tap into him.

It confused Luke; he couldn’t put the relationships into context. The sex was always good, he was a willing participant in most aspects of male love, stopping short of full penetration. I’m not ready, I’m saving myself for Mr. Right, no. He hadn’t crossed that line yet and by not doing so he felt that in one way or another he still retained something special, something pure about himself.

Not quite the trumped up slut Craig predicted he’d become.

But he’d try anything else. He was an affectionate, expressive man and he adored physical contact. He’d rub, stroke, kiss, languish in another’s touch for hours. He was curious, he loved to talk to his lovers in and out of bed. 

Yet nothing seemed to go beyond the surface and he started to wonder if in fact he was as shallow as Craig had roared. Maybe there’s no getting through to me. Maybe I have no love in me.

Lying alone and listening to the rain easing up, Luke remembered Craig holding him in the yellow light and for the first time, rather than roll the memory around in his head, he dismissed it. Must have been drunk, he decided.

Luke rarely bought lovers to his own place anymore. His home became sacred, a place where he was still untainted and safe. He thought he would keep it this way until he found the person he trusted, the person who would listen and unravel the tangled skein of his sadness.

They have to be somewhere, Luke reasoned, lonely in his warm bed. They might be waiting for me too, he thought, and the idea that someone could be anticipating him just as eagerly bought him a small dose of cheer.

*********************

Gina was planning a birthday party. Every year her birthday came and went with little fanfare and for once she decided she wanted the complete works.

“I want presents, I want lots of alcohol and arguments, I want people I don’t know lying unconscious in my lounge the next morning,” she told Craig brightly over the phone. 

The thought horrified him.

“Doesn’t sound like much fun,” he said briefly.

“It’s my idea of a perfect party,” she answered. “You coming or what?”

“When is it? Not that it makes any difference. I’m not exactly booked up at the moment,” Craig said.

“I don’t believe you. I bet you have a secret stash of adoring men hanging around your flat day and night. And if you haven’t, you can come and find some at the party. November sixth. Saturday.”

Craig went quiet for a moment. Luke.

“Well?” Gina pressed. “Are you working that weekend?”

“I do the rosters. If I am I can make someone swap with me,” he said with a little pride.

“Good. Now do you mind if I ask Ashton? I can’t very well not invite him if I ask the rest of them.” She listened carefully for his response, and he tailored it just as carefully.

“Ask who ever you want.”

Later that night, he lay in bed, thinking of what it might be like to see Luke again. Maybe Luke with a boyfriend, is that solicitor still around? Maybe Luke by himself. It scared Craig a little, wondering how he should act towards to him. He remembered the last time he saw Luke’s face, the sad, beaten look after Craig had savaged him. Craig felt a deep pang of regret yet again, thinking of the things he said and remembering how Luke stoically walked away, keeping his shoulders straight. So brave, thought Craig.

He’s probably forgotten all about it, he decided then he slid his hand down his body and called the back the memories of washing Luke in the shower, running his hands over his back and arse.

 

 

I WANT PRESENTS  
BYO

Luke was reading the party invitation that Robbie had handed around to all the relief earlier that day.

He was rostered in the CAD room, distracted and a little tired. Now the thought that he might see Craig again set his thoughts whirling.

Craig with his bloody doctor friend. Luke hated the doctor. He imagined a tall, incredibly handsome man, infinitely cultured, impeccably educated. Everything I’m not, Luke thought angrily. He thought of Craig touching the fabulous doctor, doing the things to him that he had done to Luke. Darling. The mere thought made him squeeze his eyes shut.

Luke wanted to go, desperate to see Craig, but didn’t think he could bear Craig sneering at him again. A trumped up slut with a nice arse. The words cut as effectively as they had when Craig first yelled them at him.

If anything, Luke thought a little desperately, I’m worse than I was when he last saw me. Hopping from bed to bed, no prospects.

A trumped up slut with a nice arse.

I’ll think about it, Luke thought. It’s not a formal thing, she’s invited everyone, and it’s not as though she’d notice if I don’t turn up.

He didn’t go cruising that night.

********************

“Are you coming, laddie?” Pete leaned around Craig’s door. “Time to go and lie amongst the bastards.”

Every Monday afternoon they walked over to the community hall together to attend the Community Harmony meeting. Both Craig and Pete detested these meetings.

“Now tell me,” Pete asked him as they wound their way down the steep streets, “What did they decide last week?”

Craig couldn’t remember. “Something about positive outreach?” he tried hopefully.

“Outreach? What kind of crap talk is that? Who are they reaching out to?” Pete snarled.

“Don’t know. The media, I think. You were there too.” Craig reminded him.

“That was the day after the perfect trout,” Pete replied. “I had bigger fish to fry.”

“Literally,” Craig said. He still had two pieces of the Pete’s last successful catch in his freezer.

“You know, you should come fishing with me and the lads one day, Sarge. It’s lovely, out on the bay in the freezing cold. We have a great time and Ambo never fails to fall in.” Pete said this with out a trace of a smirk. “It’s as if the boy is just drawn to the water. If one of us didn’t reach in to get him, he’d just sink to the bottom, never to be seen again.” Pete’s voice took on a sort of dreamy quality.

That’s because he’s so dense, Craig thought. He had spent the morning with Ambo, trying to sort some through some fairly simple procedural notes Ambo had compiled. The notes were excellent, Ambo was impossible. By the time the vague boy had left his office Craig felt as if he had been treading water through sago.

“Oh Christ, there they all are,” Pete said sadly as they approached the hall. “Haven’t any of these people got anything practical to do with their time?”

“Do you have an agenda?” Craig checked.

“I’ve got all the bloody agendas. They’re all the same. Every week I get another agenda and I think, ‘well, that’s it, finally I’m going to learn something here’, and every week I turn up and end up being more bored than I was last week,” Pete answered.

Craig laughed. “I know what you mean,” he said.

They stood amongst the twenty or so civil servants and councillors who attended this dreary meeting every week. A tall skinny dry skinned woman, whose name Craig could never remember, came over to him and Pete to talk.

“Hello, love,” Pete said kindly. He couldn’t remember her name either.

“Sharon,” she said bluntly. “Is your MO here?” she asked.

Both Pete and Craig looked at her blankly. She wasn’t speaking their language.

“Your media officer,” she clarified, irritation creeping over her face. She hated coppers. She thought they were all stupid.

Do we have a media officer? Craig wondered.

“They’re sending the Area Press Manager,” Pete told her, as crisply as his warm drawl would allow.

He looked at her contemptuously as she walked away to talk to some community liaison people. She was wearing a crumpled purple suit and a crumpled blue blouse and scuffed blue shoes. None of the ensemble seemed to fit her properly, hanging on her bony parched frame in a series of inconsistent awkward drapes.

“Looks like she got dressed in a tumble drier,” Pete remarked in a low voice as he and Craig watched her talking to another group. “Have you met the bloody Area Press Manager?”

“I didn’t know we had one.” Craig admitted.

“Oh, we’ve got one alright,” Pete told him.

“Is he any good?” Craig asked.

“Dunno. Don’t know exactly what he does. We never see him. Amelia talks to him sometimes, but mostly he goes through the Super.” Pete explained.

“What does he do?”

“Who, the Super?”

Craig shook his head. “No, the Area Press Manager.”

“Dunno. Never thought about it ‘til now. If he’s here you can ask him.” 

The Area Press Manager was already sitting at the table when the others walked into the meeting room. He is twenty eight, wears Helmet Lang suits that fit him perfectly, crisp Pinks shirts and Church’s brogues. He has superb olive skin, large eyes so dark that in some light they appear to be black, thick glossy loose dark curls and a beautiful red mouth.

He is comfortable, relaxed and straight in his chair. He watches Craig walk in and stares at him frankly until Craig notices him. Then he continues to stare, his face not moving a muscle, his eyes deep and vital.

Oh my, thinks the Area Press Manager when he sees Craig. Aren’t we a big boy.

Hallo gorgeous, is Craig’s first thought when he sees the Area Press Manager.

**************************

“Well that was another ninety minutes we’ll never get back,” Pete says bitterly as they walk back to the station after the meeting.

Craig smiles at him, but is too distracted to answer him. Currently he has bigger fish to fry.

************************

“You going to the party?” Gary asks Luke as they are changing after their shift.

Luke shrugs.

“Probably,” he answers. He doesn’t like to think about it. He wishes there was no party, or wishes that he hadn’t been invited, because then he would have no choice about seeing Craig again.

“Probably? Whaddya mean, probably? Course you’re going! It’s going to be great!” Gary’s fiery little eyes are animated.

“Dunno, my mum’s been sick. If she’s okay I’ll go,” Luke lied, thinking that it was one of the weakest excuses he’s ever concocted.

Gary didn’t notice. He pulled a thick sweater over his hard head and smoothed backed his hair, still smiling at Luke.

“Do ya good to get out, ya mum’d understand. It’ll be great.”

Luke thought about a possible aftermath, going home after seeing Craig again, going home empty, alone. Going home with further evidence of what he could have had and what he threw away. Going home with the weight of guilt and full responsibility on his shoulders. The thought made him tired.

“Yeah, s'pose it will. Depends on Mum though.” He slammed his locker shut and walked away.

*************************

“You know,” said Amelia, appearing suddenly at Craig’s open door and leaning heavily in against the frame, “I’ve worked here four years and I have never seen the Area Press Manager once.” She stopped and waited for Craig to look up her. He did, smiling very slightly.

“Mind you, we’ve only had an Area Press Manager for eighteen months.” Amelia continued. She looked straight at Craig, and he smiled a little more sheepishly.

“What’s your point, PC Armistead?” He looked back at her, pushing his file away from him slightly, resting his biro in his hand. He’s enjoying this, she thought.

“My point, Sergeant Gilmore, is that I have never met the Area Press Manager. He has never been here in his life. He’d never introduced himself, never dropped in. I wasn’t even sure exactly where in Sussex he was based.” She waggled her head cheekily as she spoke, watching the colour rise on his face.

“And why do you feel the need to share this with me?” He was grinning boyishly.

“Well, Sergeant Gilmore, I wanted you to know that my dealings with the Area Press Manager have been very limited. He calls here once in a blue moon and I put him through to the Super. That’s about all I can tell you about the Area Press Manager.” Her eyes are bright, shining at him as she continues to tease.

“And?”

“And now, all of a sudden, the Area Press Manager has been here THREE times in ONE WEEK. All of a sudden, the Area Press Manager thinks there are a lot of fine story opportunities here. All of a sudden, the Area Press Manager needs to come over and find out what the Community Relations Assessment Unit is doing, what the Gay Liaison Unit is doing, what’s new in the Multicultural Liaison Unit, how the Crimes Assessment unit is coping in the current climate. The Area Press Manager is FASCINATED by us.” She stops for a second, watching Craig’s face as the smile becomes more intense.

“Well,” he says reasonably, “We’re a fascinating section of the South Western Unit.”

“Oh, crap. We’re as dull as dishwater, all of us. You know what I think, Sergeant Gilmore?”

“Tell me what you think, PC Armistead.” He really wants to know.

“I think the Area Press Manager is fascinated by the supervisor of the Community Relations Assessment Unit.”

Craig says nothing, but tips his happy face towards her, indicating that he needs more details.

“Well, Sarge, all of a sudden the Area Press Manager needs to know exactly what we do, exactly why we do it, and, oddly enough, he seems to have a pressing need to walk past your office seventy times whenever he is here. And when he walks past, you seem to have a pressing need to talk to him about something that I would have thought you could just checked with me.” She smiled. Craig was beaming at her.

“So what are your conclusions on this matter, PC Armistead?”

“My conclusions. My conclusions.” She keeps him waiting a few seconds as she pretends to be deep in thought. She waits until Craig appears to be ready to say something, and then she jumps in with her pleasant fruity voice.

“My conclusion, Sergeant Gilmore, is that the Area Press Manager has got the flaming hots for you in a bad, bad way.”

Chapter 14  
Spin

“I made you some biscuits! I thought it would be nice to visit you! I can’t stop thinking about Peggy! I’ve been worried sick about her! You can make me some tea! I love having tea and biscuits! I can see your flat!”

Craig has just opened his front door to Lilly on the last Saturday morning in October. It is grey and blustery outside. Peg is curled up asleep on his unmade bed, and Craig thought it would be nice to read the papers quietly, then daydream a little about the attractive Area Press Manager before he went in to work that afternoon.

Lilly is wearing a very full bright blue skirt that is appliqued with fat red velvet roses, a crinoline, a red mohair jumper that doesn’t quite fit her slim shoulders, an emerald velveteen coat with a fur collar, a clatter of earrings, red mary janes, thick white woollen tights and pink earmuffs. Her curls are four or five shades lighter since Craig last saw her; a couple of them are pink and match her earmuffs. There is a leopard skin bag slung over her arm.

She is holding a large jar of moon and star shaped biscuits that are iced in various violent shades. 

She stands beaming at the door and Craig thinks suddenly of Daisy Duck. 

“Come in,” is all he can say.

She swishes past him, hands him the jar of biscuits and walks straight to the wide bay window.

“Ohhhhhhhh! Look at that! Isn’t that FANtastic! You can see the sea! All the time!” She turns and beams at him as he stands holding the large jar of biscuits.

“All the time,” he smiles weakly.

“Let’s have tea! Do you have a kettle?! I can help! Where’s Peggy? Do you have other cats?” Lilly follows him into the kitchen, draping her emerald coat, leopard skin bag and pink earmuffs over his couch on the way.

“No. No other cats, just Peggy.”

“We have lots of cats at the vets! I could get you more! People get them and just get sick of them! I think it’s really cruel!” Lilly is happily chattering beside him, reaching into the cupboard, looking for a plate for the biscuits.

Craig fills the kettle, wondering if she ever sleeps, wondering what to say to her.

“No more cats, thanks just the same.” He watches her sashaying around his kitchen, completely at ease.

“Do you want to be a vet when you…,” he stops himself in the nick of time from saying, when you grow up. “when you finish school?” He can’t think of anything else.

“No! It makes me too sad! You have to put animals to sleep! Sometimes they come in really badly injured! Sometimes you get them and people have hurt them! You wouldn’t believe what people do! I can’t stand it! It makes me really sad!” Her eyes are wide and serious, but her speech continues in the same lively silvery manner.

“So what do you want to do?”

“I want to be a designer! I want my own label! I love clothes! I want to have my own shop like Topshop only much, much better! Lots of really beautiful old things and things I make myself!”

She chatters on about clothes and old things as he hunts out cups.

“Did you make your skirt?” Craig asks, fairly certain that no one else could have.

“Yes! You can tell! Aren’t you clever! I did! It’s a Lilly original! I made the red roses on it too! It took me hours! But I bought the crinoline! Look! It’s starched with real starch!”

Lilly lifts the hem of her improbable skirt and shows him the stiff white petticoat underneath. Craig doesn’t know where to look.

“Feel! It’s really stiff! It’s so hard to get starched things now! Go on, feel!”

He looks down at her, slightly alarmed.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate that I feel your crinoline, but thanks any way.” He says this as kindly as he can, then quickly changes the subject.

“The biscuits are pretty. Did you make them too?”

“Yes! Biscuits are so easy but they always look really boring! I hate plain biscuits! I think someone should ban them! You’re in the police! You could do that! What are your favourite biscuits?”

Craig is considering his legislative powers in regard to foodstuffs, and for a moment doesn’t catch the question.

“Not hob nobs! Don’t tell me you like boring biscuits! Although you can make them a bit prettier if you put jam on them!” They sit down together at the table, Craig pushing his papers out of the way.

“Come on! Don’t be shy! Tell me your favourite biscuits! Or are you more of a cake person?” Her mouth is full of a blue iced star.

“No one’s ever asked me that before. I’d have to think about it,” he answers her, biting into a red moon.

“I don’t believe you! Everyone knows their favourite biscuit! Don’t be bashful! Tell me your favourite bickie!”

He smiles, despite himself. She is rather likable, he thinks.

“You’ll laugh,” he says, getting the hang of it.

“No! I never laugh at people’s biscuits! I think it’s really important! I won’t mind if it’s hob nobs!” So young, so earnest.

“Jammie dodgers,” he says a little shyly.

“Ohhhhh!!! See?! They’re fabulous! And they’re really pretty! I love them! Can you make them? They’re really easy!”

“I’ve never tried. I don’t really have time to make biscuits. Did your mum teach you to cook?”

The exclamation marks disappear, and she looks away a little, as if she wasn’t sure.

“My mum, she doesn’t have time to make biscuits either.”

“Does she work?”

“I’ve got lots of little brothers and sisters. She had me when she was really, really young, and then she married my stepfather a few years ago. They have lots of kids.” Lilly was a little quieter. She clearly didn’t want to talk about her family, and clearly didn’t want it to look like a big deal. Craig watched her briefly, and then changed the subject.

“You’ll have to meet my sister. She likes clothes more than you do.”

“Does she? I’d love a sister who loved clothes! You’re so lucky! You can go shopping together! What’s her favourite biscuit?”

It is cold and grey in London too. Luke is wondering through the Portobello market, dodging the tourists and fashion stylists, relishing his own company and the fact he has a Saturday off.

He has started to like flea markets more and more. The colour, the mixed crowds of people, the endless stalls of china, fabrics and pointless pieces of Victoriana appeal to him. He would like to be able to collect something, but is yet to have his passion sparked by something he would like to collect.

Boys, he thinks idly as he flicks through a box of old vinyls from the early eighties, I collect boys.

From time to time he ponders the pros and cons of going to Gina’s party. There seems like a long list of arguments for and against, most of which are directly related to Craig. The Craig files, he smiles to himself as he stops to look a stall of ceramic table wear.

If he goes, if he goes, if he goes. Luke has not yet decided what is worse, going to the party and seeing Craig, going to the party and not seeing Craig, not going to the party and hearing that Craig was there.

He picks up a large pottery mug, believes it to be inadequate and sets it back down.

He wonders if Craig would be bothered about seeing him again. Probably hasn’t occurred to him, he thinks. What with the bloody doctor keeping him busy…he might have just forgotten about me. It is a bleak thought on a bleak day, but one that, these days, Luke feels is fairly accurate.

He wishes he had never written that letter now.

He moves on through the stalls, his interest occasionally piqued by a rack of interesting shirts or some deco enamelware. Who owned all this stuff, he wonders. Where are they now? As he stops to admire a collection of six pale cream entrée plates he thinks of all the things, all the fights, romances, heartbreaks, these silent bits and pieces have witnessed. It makes his own misery seem fairly irrelevant.

Nice plates, thinks Luke. They are the last surviving pieces of a Doulton dinner set that, according to the label from the dealer, dates to the mid 1930s. They are a true shade of cream, and around their bevelled edges are double rings of black and brown. Plain, clean, sleek, functional. Luke has black plates in the cupboard at home. He thinks these would look nice with them.

The dealer has been watching Luke amble through the crowd towards his stall for about ten minutes, hoping there was something amongst his wares that would catch this handsome boy’s eye.

Very nice, thinks the dealer, watching Luke examine the plates, oblivious. Lovely skin, great body. Young. Can’t be more than 21 or 22. Student maybe. Very nice. And he sits and waits, never taking his eyes off Luke.

There’s no price on the plates. May as well ask, Luke decides.

“How much?” Luke asks the man who still watches him.

Gotcha.

The dealer stands up and moves close to his side of the stall.

“Do you collect Doulton?” he asks Luke in a lovely educated voice.

“No, I just like them.” Luke hasn’t yet clocked as to what is happening.

“Well, if you’re a collector, I know these would be precious to you, because of course they are very rare. So I’d be able to let you have them for forty five pounds.” He watches, knowing Luke wouldn’t have money like that to spend on six plates.

“Thanks,” says Luke, ready to walk off.  
“But, if you want to buy them just because you like the look of them, then I can let you have them for eighteen quid.” And he smiles broadly, because he picked them up for three quid at a car boot sale two months ago.

Luke looks at the dealer properly for the first time. He is somewhere in his forties or possibly early fifties, has rat brown hair that sparkles with silver at his temples, blue eyes, a square jaw and strong, hard hands. He is a little taller than Luke and slightly thickset. He has a penchant for young men, and has developed a whole swag of tricks and trinkets to lure them.

He had no misgivings about Luke from the moment that he first spoke to him. An innocent, he picked, a little naïve. Lonely. Misses Daddy. Needs a little discipline.

Luke has no opinion of the dealer either way. He is interested in the plates.

“Fifteen,” says Luke.

“Oh, all right," the dealer says a little superciliously, but smiling at the same time. It confuses Luke, and intrigues him a little. He smiles a little warily, and starts to wonder if he is being picked up.

His interest is piqued.

“Do you live around here?” the dealer asks idly.

Notting Hill? As if, thinks Luke. “No, South London,” he says, watching as the dealer carefully wraps the plates. “Do you?”

“Hampstead,” he says, knowing that says it all.

“Nice for some,” Luke replies, feeling out of his depth with a man since the first time he met Craig.

“It is indeed,” says the dealer. He decides its time to turn the screws a little.

“Are you studying fine arts?” he asks.

Luke instantly feels a little less important. “No, no, I’m not.”

“But you’re a student?”

“No, I’m a policeman”.

Oh, a young bobby! The uniform! thinks the dealer.

“Marvelous!” the dealer smiles. “I have so much respect for the Met. I think you have an extraordinarily difficult job, and you are so badly compensated for the work you do,” he says.

That sounds about right, thinks Luke, but suddenly he feels a little shy in offering an opinion on anything.

The plates are wrapped, and the dealer is placing them in a large bag.

“Do you come here every Saturday?” the dealer asks.

“No, I don’t get many weekends off.” Luke watches closely. Why would he be interested in me?

“Pity. Still, if you’re interested in deco china, you could always come and visit me in my shop in the Highgate Village. If you’re good I could take you to lunch.” And he hands Luke his business card.

“Thank you. I’ll bear it in mind.”

“Bear it in mind and act on it, Constable.” The dealer flashes a genuine, handsome smile. He adds an apparently casual afterthought. “Oh, I didn’t get your name.”

“Luke. Luke Ashton.”

The dealer extends his solid warm hand, and holds Luke’s just a little longer than he should.

“Lovely to meet you, Constable Ashton.”

Luke’s courage shot up with a streak of mischief.

“The pleasure’s mine,” he said politely, and squeezed the hand slightly before he gave it back.

Chapter 15  
Not the right time or place

Gina’s party is a tremendous success. Already there are people she does not know unconscious on her lounge floor, three arguments have ignited and been soothed, while meanwhile there is a cliff of brightly wrapped presents piled up on her bed.

Luke has edged around the periphery of the party all night, looking and listening. Craig is nowhere in sight.

At ten thirty Luke runs in to Gina as he comes out of the bathroom.

“Having a good time?” she yells at him. She looks pretty, thinks Luke. Really happy and pretty. She is wearing a wonderful black silk crepe frock and a sparkling necklace. Her eyes are shrewd as ever, but they are far livelier tonight, twinkling in the light of the hall.

She holds a packet of cigarettes, a pink cigarette lighter, a glass of something lethal and her mobile phone. She has been taking calls from well wishers and guests unable to attend all night.

“Yeah!” Luke yells back her. “Great party! Who’s the dead girl in the lounge?”

Luke points over to a well-rounded brunette in an unfortunate red frock who appears to have had too much to drink, slumped uncomfortably in the corner of the crowded room. People step around her.

“Dunno! She looks like she’s having a good time though!”

Luke laughs and Gina’s phone rings.

Another guest unable to make it.

“You tart!” Gina says with a laugh into the Nokia. “Pass me up for your Area Press Manager!”

Luke smiles, curious to know who’s got lucky.

“Sergeant Gilmore,” she says with mock indignation as she ends the call. Luke listens carefully, a tide of cold water rushing through his belly. “He’s been flirting with some gorgeous young bloke for the last couple of weeks and it looks like he’s finally pulled!”

“What happened to the doctor?” Luke asks before he can check himself.

 

“Oh, he’s old news,” Gina says merrily.

She has to look at Luke before she remembers his history with Craig. She has had quite a few drinks afterall. She sees Luke’s face, but fails to tabulate the expression adequately.

“Oh come on Ashton, he’s ancient history now,” she says, laughing.

Luke shrugs, not quite looking at her.

“You must be over your little indiscretion?” She has the purpose and the good will of those who are fairly drunk, but still sober enough to dish out unwarranted advice.

“Well, Craig appears to be,” he says, in a desperate last effort to get some confirmation that maybe Craig isn’t.

“Oh, he’s well over it. He’s well and truly moved on,” Gina tells him adamantly.

“Has he said that?” Luke asks, starting to feel a little unsteady.

“He doesn’t have to. I know. He never mentions you. He’s been mad about this boy for weeks. Then there was the doctor.”

Over, thinks Luke. It’s over. 

Gina loops her arm around his shoulder and leans in to him. “Ashton, I’m a good friend of yours and I’m telling you this for your own good. I know you and Gilmore had a thing, but that’s all it was. You have to move on. He has, and he ain’t comin’ back.”

“I have to go,” he said quickly, kissing her on the cheek. She grabbed his arm for a second to talk some more to him and was astounded to see as he pulled away that his eyes were full of tears.

******************

The Area Press Manager had insisted to the Super that it would be a good idea if he could go on a stake out.

The Super insisted to Amelia that she organise this with CID.

DS Sandra Patterson in CID said they didn’t care as long as none of them had to sit in a car, or speak with, the Area Press Manager.

Amelia told CID that she would organise that the Area Press Manager would be assigned to sit in a car and talk with Sergeant Gilmore.

DS Patterson wanted to know if he was the gorgeous silent one who worked downstairs with Pete and the others.

Amelia confirmed this.

DS Patterson asked if Sergeant Gilmore were married, gay, homicidal or a misogynist.

Amelia, who does not like DS Patterson at all, replied that he was all four.

“Work that out, Brainbox,” Amelia said after she hung up the phone. She then called the Area Press Manager and told him with a professional voice and a completely straight face that it has been organised that he can attend a stake out but that he must remain in a car with Sergeant Gilmore who will be there as back up only.

The Area Press Officer confirmed that to be a very good arrangement.

Amelia then walked down the hall to speak with Sergeant Gilmore. She is exhausted by her round of telephone calls and stops via the staff room to make herself a cup of coffee. To her pleasure she notes there are biscuits in the tin.

She dips in and retrieves a home made heart shaped cookie covered in silver cachous.

“Where the hell are these from?” she says to herself.

Sergeant Gilmore is bent over a file, comparing one report with another. He is deep in thought, still wondering if he wants to go to Gina’s party. Luke, Luke with a boyfriend, Luke ignoring him, or worse still, Luke talking to him as if nothing happened.

A purple heart shaped biscuit is dropped on the file in front him. He looks up to see Amelia eating a yellow one.

“PC Armistead?”

She draws a deep breath and concentrates again on keeping her face straight.

“Sarge, just needed to tell you that I have organised for the South Western districts Area Press Manager to be stationed with you this Saturday evening for the warehouse stake out.”

Craig considers his biscuit, takes a bite and then looks at her coolly.

“Why is the Area Press Manager going on a stakeout at all?”

“Sarge, the Area Press Manager has requested of the Super that he be allowed to observe the covert operation for possible material to pitch to a newspaper on the manner in which Central is tackling crime.”

“I see.” Craig took another bite of his biscuit. “And why isn’t the Area Press Manager observing the stakeout with CID?”

“Sarge, CID felt that they couldn’t be arsed in doing anything to assist any other unit of Central in any matter at any time now or in the future.” 

“Very well. Thank you.”

She was almost out the room when Craig called her back.

“PC Armistead!”

She leaned back in, looking.

“Sarge?”

“I owe you one.”

She smiled at him. “Damn straight you do.”

******************

“I can’t understand how they don’t notice you,” the Area Press Manager says to Craig as they sit in an unmarked car on Saturday evening.

Craig has often wondered this himself. He feels he couldn’t fail to notice if two men were sitting idle in a car out the front of his place.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Craig answers, not looking at the Area Press Manager. For when he does, he is overcome with such lust he feels certain that he will devour the young man alive.

The Area Press Manager, of course, is counting on that.

They sit together in the car for two hours. Nothing happens. Occasionally Craig hears irritated exchanges between CID officers and it becomes clear that the planned haul is not going to happen.

“This is a complete waste of time and resources,” Craig hears the Inspector tell DS Patterson over the radio.

“Is it?” the Area Press Manager asks.

Craig is slumped in the driver’s seat, his left arm resting on the low back. He turns to look at the young man next to him and notices once again the beautiful deep red mouth. He casually reaches over and gently taps the man’s soft fleshy bottom lip with his little finger.

“I don’t think so,” Craig tells him truthfully.

He then abandoned any last minute thought of driving down to London to attend Gina’s party.

The Area Press Manager, by way of thanks, took Craig to dinner at a rather nice Italian restaurant in the lanes.

Craig, by way of thanks, took the Area Press Manager home to his place for coffee.

“What’s that?” the Area Press Officer asked when he saw Peg sprawled out on the couch.

“That’s Peg,” Craig told him happily.

“I hate cats,” the Area Press Manager answered.

That was the first crack in the relationship, but Craig was more than happy to overlook it.

“How do you have your coffee?” Craig asked him.

“Expresso with a twist” he replied in all seriousness.

That was the second.

They sat on the floor in the lounge and talked for a while over plunger coffee. The Area Press Manager had completed a degree in Marketing at Bristol after a mediocre academic career at Winchester. He likes extremely expensive clothes, tasteful dinner parties, foreign films, Paris, tall good looking men, Thai restaurants, fine wines, Egoiste by Chanel, continental breakfasts in boutique hotels and money.

Craig had been accepted into Hendon after six years in the local comprehensive. He likes comfortable understated clothes in natural fibres, knock up homemade dinners with close friends, some foreign films but more American films, Swansea, men of average height with cute smiles, Greek restaurants, wine or beer, Insense by Givenchy and the thought of one day owning a home.

Nothing in common, they both decided privately after a few minutes.

Hardly important, Craig thought a little later as he whipped off the Area Press Manager’s clothes, pushing his pima cotton tshirt over his gorgeous belly, tugging the Jigsaw for Men chinos over the hard thighs. The touch of warm skin against his own was so gratifying Craig thought that maybe he could fall in love after all.

He was further convinced of this as he surveyed the Area Press Manager naked before him, applying his beautiful lips along Craig’s hips.

Craig lay back passively, eyeing the luminous toffee coloured skin, the glossy licorice thatches of hair and the elastic fruity mouth. He’s like a dessert, Craig thought before tucking in. 

***********************

In an interesting converted warehouse compartment in Wapping, Luke is being entertained by two men he has met only forty minutes before in a popular gay hotel nearby.

Luke left Gina’s almost numb with pain and set out determined to relieve it in the most mind-blowing way imaginable. Gareth and Patrick set out earlier in the evening with the simple notion of adding a little pepper to their love life.

They both find Luke extremely applicable to that task.

Luke leaves them snoring happily together in each other’s arms before the sun comes up. He envies them their cosy relationship.

Later that morning he wakes up in his own bed and has difficulty remembering the happy couple’s names. It is another grey day, a little damp, and he is ravenous. Two men are bound to make you burn more energy than one, he thinks happily.

This reminds him of Craig, and he remembers the Area Press Manager.

Luke stretches his back and starts to think seriously about Craig in great detail.

Ten months since I walked out and left him there. He can still see the look on Craig’s face, the uncomprehending misery. Luke winces, and wonders for the thousandth time how he could have possibly inflicted that kind of grief on someone he loves so much.

So many things, thinks Luke. The kiss, the engagement, Carl, the wedding. Walking away from him like that. So many awful things I did. His heart aches when he examines the acts cumulatively and considers how Craig came back, and back again, trying to love him.

He thinks long and carefully about the hideous acts of cruelty and finally realises there is nothing he could do to take it back, nor is there anything he could do to compensate for it. A letter and three books. Pathetic, thinks Luke. No wonder he didn’t contact me. Why would he?

You don’t deserve him, Luke tells himself.

He thinks of Craig lying with another man and, as much as it pains Luke, he is glad Craig is happy. Luke smiles at the thought of Craig in love, being loved, as he deserves. He hopes the Area Press Manager appreciates how lucky he is to wakes up next to Craig. He hopes that Craig continues to be happy.

Luke marvels at the pain and value of the lesson he is learning. However, he knows that people live through far greater tragedies everyday. He has seen them, talked to them, watched them. They find a way, and, it occurs to Luke then and there, I can too.

I can always love him, he decides, nobody can stop me. No one has to know. And I got to touch him, kiss him, and hold him. No one can take that away.

He then mentally kisses Craig goodbye with tenderness and regret, and tucks him away safe inside his heart forever, ready to move on.

***********************

Later, freshly showered, Luke drinks his excellent coffee as he stares out the kitchen window. He feels, well, better isn’t the word, but resigned. He looks over at the lurid green clock on the microwave. It’s only ten o’clock.

I can go to that caff in Camden and have a fry up for brekkie. Then I could go to the markets.

He has a few other things to do while he is in that part of London, but breakfast is his first priority.

**************************

Craig wakes up flat on his belly, his face turned towards a pair of broad, smooth- skinned shoulders. In his sleepy fugue he thinks he is lying next to Luke, and he instinctively reaches his hand out to touch the skin and draw the body to his own.

The body is unyielding, its owner grunts a little. The Area Press Manager, he remembers. He draws his hand back and goes back to sleep.

 

Chapter 16  
Enough of Love

Luke is mopping up thin trails of bacon grease and golden drips of egg yolk with thick hunks of toast. All around him people sit in groups of three and four, enjoying animated breakfasts together.

Luke, however, is happy to be alone. He feels as if he has already moved on a little, out of the invisible range of Craig’s effect on him. Luke wants to ponder this, to get used to it.

After he has drained his large mug of tea, he walks over the Lock and down through the markets in the old stables. He buys a fabulous vintage Pringle cashmere jumper for thirty quid. It is in fantastic condition, soft and plush, the colour of the ocean pale in the sunlight.

He looks at old kerosene lamps, Bakelite cups, old rusted chisels, a Clarice Cliff fruit bowl and some old oil paintings.

He browses amongst stalls of old books for nearly an hour. He buys an excellent old compendium called Routledge’s Cyclopaedia of Law, Biography, Geography, History and General Information. The previous owner appeared to have made great use of this book; Luke found several inscriptions and small slabs of notes in some of the margins. There was also an ancient pressed flower, still safe and pretty, although very faded, tucked in to the section of Historical Allusions.

Luke found the little clues of ownership far more charming than the text itself, and he happily handed over two quid for the book.

He had a large milky expresso coffee in the café outside before heading off towards Highgate.

Down Archway Road, through Tufnell Park, right up to the Highgate Tube Station. The he cut down a side street that wound across to the Highgate Village and stood on the corner near the old church.

Then he walked idly down the street until he came to the shop he was looking for. It was, as Luke expected, closed, but he was able to see the things in the window.

Looks posh, thought Luke. 

Then he walked down to a small grocery store where he bought an apple and a bag of unshelled peanuts.

He turned right through the beautiful old gates and wandered through Waterlow Park, headed down towards the northern end of the park and sat on some old stone steps and ate the apple.

The crunching noise attracted the attention of squirrels, gathering up anything that might last in the soil over the next few bitter months.

He opened the bag of nuts.

When the bag was empty and the squirrels were gone, he walked back out to the village street and headed south, down past the Dick Whittington Hospital and over to the Camden tube. He stopped at Sainsbury’s and got as many groceries he could carry home.

It was dark when he got home and it took some time before the heating kicked in.

As he chopped tomatoes and boiled pasta, he looked outside the kitchen window and smiled at how much the view can change in just a few hours.

Luke felt more centred than he had in eighteen months. 

*********************

Down in Brighton Craig is changing the sheets on his bed. The Area Press Manager has finally gone home and, although Craig was rather relieved to see him go, he now misses him a little. It would be nice to curl up against that hot smooth skin again tonight.

Craig is not quite sure as to how he feels about the Area Press Officer. His mind and body are still saturated with sex, and it is difficult for him to get his thoughts beyond this.

I need to spend more time with him, Craig decides. We can talk and hang out. The thought of having a boyfriend again makes him very happy.

************************

 

Luke too is remarkably happy when he arrives at work on Monday morning. He is refreshed and cannot remember having slept so well in months.

Before he heads out in the area car with Nick, Gina collars him in the corridor.

“A word in my office, PC Ashton.” Her voice is hoarse; her face a little pallid.

Luke longs to say, “rough weekend?” when he stands in front of her desk, but bites his tongue.

“Did you have a good time on Saturday night?” she asks him matter-of-factly.

Luke is courteous and cheerful.

“Yes Ma’am. I did. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you so much for the lovely gift. I was very impressed.”

“My pleasure!” He smiles at her, relieved that this is all she wants. He waits to be excused and his relief fades when she continues.

“You didn’t appear to be in the best of spirits when you left,” she presses.

So that’s what this is about. Tread carefully, thinks Luke. You don’t want to lie, and you don’t want her on your case about Craig.

The last thing Luke feels he needs at the moment is kindness.

“I think I had a bit too much too drink, Ma’am,” he says, keeping eye contact.

Gina, never one for beating around the bush, dives right in.

“I didn’t know you still held a torch for Sergeant Gilmore.”

Luke presses his lips together, and considers his answer. 

“Is there a problem, Ma’am?” he asks.

“You tell me.”

“Has anyone complained about me? Is there some suggestion that my work is below par?”

“No, not all. On the contrary. I think you have coped exceptionally well given your, shall we say, personal turmoil over the last few months. I was, however, surprised at your response on hearing that Sergeant Gilmore is seeing someone else. I’m checking to see if you are alright.” She looked straight at him, her cobra eyes inscrutable.

It stings to hear it again, that Craig is seeing someone else. Luke presses it down, and looks right back at her.

“I appreciate your concern Ma’am, but I don’t think it matters how I feel about Sergeant Gilmore anymore.”

“It matters to me.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I can tell you that I’m not proud of the way I treated Sergeant Gilmore, and I wish that things could have worked out differently. I can also tell you that I respect him enough to be genuinely happy for him and his new partner, and hope his new partner has the sense to appreciate how lucky he is.”

Played his hand and never showed his cards, Gina thought. She smiled at him with a little admiration.

“Very well, PC Ashton.” She looked at him, waiting to see what he would say. He kept his mouth shut.

“You can go. And close the door behind you quietly.”

************************

Amelia is hanging around Craig’s door, eating a rabbit shaped biscuit that is iced in an astonishing shade of green. She waits until Craig looks up. 

“I saw you filling the biscuit tin this morning, Sarge.”

He looks up at her, a little wary.

“I’m happy you enjoy my contribution, PC Armistead.”

“Do you make them yourself?” she asks poker faced.

He has already started smiling before he can give a stern reply.

“Do I strike you as the type of man who makes iced bunny biscuits? Is that how you see me?”

“How was your weekend?” she asks idly.

Colour rises up his face.

“My weekend was fine, thank you, Constable Armistead. And yours?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Washing, ironing, threatening my pets. Oh, that reminds me! The Super has asked that you write a detailed report about the obbo.” She pauses for a minute to bite her biscuit. “The obbo that you took the Area Press Manager on. How did that go, incidentally? Do you need a pillow?”

He looks at her confused. “Why would I want a pillow?”

“I thought your seat might be a bit uncomfortable,” she smiles wickedly.

The colour on his face deepens a shade and he tries unsuccessfully not to smile again.

“You can go now, PC Armistead. Tell the Super he will have his report tomorrow morning.”

“Before I go Sarge, I do need to ask you something.”

“Something appropriate, I would hope.”

“Entirely.”

“Very well. What can I tell you, PC Armistead?”

“Where do you get the bunny bickies?”

“One of my neighbours makes them for me,” he tells her, relieved.

“Just checking”, she says, and waltzes out the door.

*****************************

“I want every lurid detail right down to the last drop of bodily fluid and I want you to tell me in a very very soft voice”, Gina croaks at Craig on the phone that night.

Craig is cooking dinner for the Area Press Manager, who is scheduled to arrive in forty minutes. He has been diligently chopping, slicing, mixing, drizzling, blending, seasoning and heating for the last ninety minutes. Currently he is measuring olive oil in to a cup.

“How’s the birthday girl?” he asks her.

“Very, very delicate. How’s the Area Press Manager?”

Craig considers an appropriate answer.

“He’s lovely. I’m cooking him dinner.”

“He’s a lucky boy! But please don’t mention food to me again. So…are you an item?”

Craig rests the phone on his shoulder as he trims the tops off garlic bulbs. “Well, he stayed most of the weekend, he’s coming back tonight, so I think he’s interested!”

“Sounds very interested. Are you?”

“Oh, definitely,” Craig says, but Gina picks the tiny needle of hesitation in his voice. She decides to go to go fishing, and starts talking about the party.

“Who was there?” Craig asks, after Gina has explained the story of the brunette in the red dress.

“Well, everybody. Lots of old friends, lots of the Sun Hill crowd, my sister came down from Derby, about a hundred people at the peak.”

“Lots of presents?” Craig asks as he cores parsnips.

“Lots of presents.”

“Well? What did you get?” Craig is looking for a butter knife.

“Great stuff. Mind you, everyone was warned that they had to bring a great present.” He could hear her lighting a cigarette.

“Like what?” He settles the parsnip pieces next to some hunks of potatoes in a baking dish and tosses small irregular chunks of butter over them.

“Perfume, theatre tickets, plants, books, choccies, cashmere…,”

“Cashmere? I love cashmere. Who gave you cashmere?”

“Luke Ashton, God love him. You think you know someone and then you realise you don’t.” She blew a stream of dense cigarette smoke across the room and waited.

“What did he give you?” Craig asked, leaning slightly on the counter, staring at the baking dish.

“The most beautiful cashmere scarf. Not the normal thick types but a really beautiful lacey type. I’ve never seen anything like it. I was so touched. He really thought about it.” She took another drag and was about to change the subject but Craig caught her in time.

“Was he with his solicitor?”

Hooked.

“No, they’ve broke up ages ago.”

“Who’s he seeing now?”

“No idea. He didn’t bring anyone on Saturday night and he left early. He keeps a pretty low profile these days.”

“How’s he going?”

“Pretty well, considering. He had a very hard time of it in the early months, he was all over the place.”

“What, at work?”

“No, he kept his head at work. He got a lot of flak from some of the others, first Kerry, then he came out but he took it on the chin.” Gina stubs her cigarette out in a new ashtray.

“Is he happy?”

“I honestly don’t know. He seems a little, you know, a little,”

“What?” Craig is listening intently.

“He’s clammed up a bit. He just isn’t quite the bright young thing he was a few months ago. Probably just calmed down a bit. Anyway, when’s the Media Magnet due?”

Craig laughed at the apt description. He wanted to ask more about Luke, but he couldn’t think of anything to ask.

“He should be here in about twenty minutes. I should go, I’ve get to get this stuff in the oven.”

“I appreciate you not telling me exactly what it is. Call me next week when I’m stronger and you can give me the recipe.”

Craig had just put the phone down when someone rapped on the door.

“Hello,” he says. “You’re early.”

The Area Media Manager leans in and kisses him just long enough for Craig to sense he is rather harassed.

“Tough day at the office, honey?” Craig says sweetly.

“Impossible. I work with imbeciles. Everything is a nightmare.” He walks past Craig to dump his bag and coat on the couch. Peggy, who has been meditating on said couch, sees him and jumps down, making her way to the bed in the spare room.

“Well, dinner won’t be long,” Craig tells him, drawing him in for a deeper kiss.

“Do we have to eat?” he asks in a slightly whining voice, pulling away slightly. “Can’t we just go to bed?”

“Why can’t we eat and then go to bed?” Craig murmurs, pulling him back in a bit closer, ignoring the little jab. Cooking was a big deal for Craig.

“Because then we get less time in bed,” he murmurs back, tugging at Craig’s clothes. “Besides, I ate at the office.”

Another jab. They had discussed dinner earlier in the day.

The hands are going up over Craig’s back, his skin is tingling. He’s hurt, regardless. He loves to cook. He’d been looking forward to this.

So Craig turns off the oven, leaves the kitchen in a shambles and follows the Area Press Manager into the bedroom.

A little later, the hurt has subsided and Craig, as he holds the man’s hips still and pushes towards the tight wall of muscles, thinks he could get used this after all. His eyes squeeze shut as he feels the wonderful hot rush race up his thighs and right through his groin and he sees Luke, lying in his arms, reaching his hand out to his face.

“Harder,” the Area Press Manager grunts at him, bearing back.

Craig doesn’t hear him and continues to thrust gently, his eyes closed as he fucks someone completely different.

Chapter 17  
Time flying

It’s December twenty third and Jenny Gilmore is pushing through the awful crowds in Waterstones in Charing Cross. She is finishing off her Christmas shopping before she leaves London for a week.

She wanders past the cookbooks, the visual design books, the home decorating books, over towards the self help books, the religious books and stops briefly at the Tibetan Book of the Dead.

Pay attention, she thinks.

She finds what she wants in the astrology books. Some overworked publisher had released, in time for Christmas, a series of cookbooks tailored for each sign of the zodiac. She chooses 'Cookbooks for Taureans' as a stockingfiller.

A young man is standing next to her, flicking through the same book. He is a Cancarian, but he likes to keep up with what’s happening for Taureans.

He looks over at her, before he musters the sense to run away quickly, he recognises her face and it makes him so happy he smiles like an angel.

“Oh Jesus, it’s you,” Jenny Gilmore spits at him.

“Merry Christmas,” Luke says to her, staring at her face. Oh God, she looks like him. The close details of Craig’s face have faded for Luke and it is a wonderful shock to have them come back to life like this.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas,” she growled.

“How have you been?” he tried.

“Fine.” She looked at him a little more closely. Expensive jacket, cashmere scarf, Costume Nationale trousers and is that a Breitling watch?

Luke figures there is no point trying to be friendly with her, so he goes in quickly with the same spirit one might employ to rip off a bandaid.

“Did you give Craig the books?” There was a tiny stab of hope in voice.

She pulled a disbelieving face at him. Put him out of his misery, she thinks, it’s Christmas.

“Yeah, I did. And before you asked if he liked them, no he didn’t. He threw them in the bin.” That should do it.

“Did he read the letter?” Better to find out once and for all, thinks Luke.

Letter, thinks Jenny. There was a letter?

“He had a bit of a laugh at that and threw it out too. Sorry babe, you lucked out.”

He drops his eyes for a minute then takes a deep breath. All those things I told him in that letter, and he laughs. Now you know I how I felt, Luke hears Craig saying again.

“Fair enough,” Luke said, not really expecting much else these days. “I would have done the same if I were him.”

“Good for you,” she said rudely. “Bye.” She was about to move off when an older man approached, stood behind Luke and introduced himself.

“How do you do. My name is Alex.” And he extended his hard, strong hand around Luke to her.

She knew, of course, who he was. Anybody who worked in investment knew of Alex Gallen.

“Hello Alex,” she says briefly, shaking his hand unenthusiastically. “I was just leaving.”

“I hope I didn’t interrupt,” says Alex courteously with a slight twang of synthetic regret.

“No, not all. Goodbye Luke.”

“Goodbye,” Luke said sadly, realising he doesn’t know her name.

***********************

Later that night Jenny is making tea in her brother’s kitchen in Brighton. They are squabbling good naturedly over the biscuits Lilly had dropped in that afternoon.

“Oh! I meant to tell you!” Jenny says, her mouth full of an excellent jammie dodger. “I saw an old trick of yours today!”

“Well, I’ve looked after many men in the UK so you’ll have to be more specific,” Craig replies, trying to reach behind her for the teapot.

“Get away from my biscuits or I won’t tell you anything,” she warns him.

“They’re my bloody biscuits, Lilly made them for me, and, in any case, I’m trying to get the teapot. Move. Was it Sean?”

“No, worse.”

“He wasn’t that bad. But having said that, I can’t think of anyone worse,” Craig answered, relieved that Jenny had never met Carl.

“Luke Ashton!”

Craig felt a chill in his heart.

“How is he?” he said presently tipping hot water into the pot.

“You’ll love this,” Jenny giggled, helping herself to another biscuit. “He’s got a sugar daddy.”

“How do you mean?” Craig couldn’t look at her.

“He was wearing these very expensive clothes, and he was with Alex Gallen, which won’t mean anything to you, but he is an incredibly influential dealer.”

“What, drug dealer?” Craig was horrified.

“Oh, you are such a narc. No, a dealer in antiques and fine art. Everyone uses him when they get a bonus or make a good comeback on the markets. He helps people invest in art and antiques.”

“How do you know he was with Luke?” he asked, still not looking at her.

“First, he, Luke, was wearing a Breitling watch. Two thousand quid’s worth. Do you think he bought that on a constable’s wage? No, me neither. Second, Gallen is known for his, how shall we say it, preference for young men. I’ve heard stories about him from some of the investors who’ve run money through him.”

“What stories?” Craig can’t recognise what he is feeling. Fierce protection towards Luke, astonishment.

“Oh, you know, he has a stall at the Portobello because he likes to pick up the young bohemian types. It’s a complete front, he runs his business out of Highgate. He only has the stall to meet the boys.”

“How old is he?” Craig now recognises a large pang of misery.

“Late forties.”

“How young does he like them?” He remembers Luke’s beautiful untainted face, smiling at him at the end of his first day. A small stream of something Craig will not examine leaks from his heart.

“Youngest I’ve heard is nineteen. So not sick young, but still too young for him. Apparently, so I hear," Jenny leaned in on her brother with a mock conspirator’s voice, “He’s into the rough stuff.”

Craig just looked at her.

“You know, hand cuffs, a bit of slap and tickle without the tickle!”

“I can’t imagine Luke as a sadist.” Craig wonders what the hell is going on.

“No, it would be the other way around. Gallen’s the master. PC Ashton would be the slave.”

It takes every scrap of Craig’s composure not to fling the teapot across the room. He is silent while Jenny fossicks around in the biscuit jar, completely unaware of her brother’s response to this gossip.

His painful, heart-twisting reactions seem to rise out of nowhere. My gorgeous boy, he thinks miserably, is someone hurting you?

Then it occurs to him. He snaps at the diverting thought, and turns back to Jenny.

“When did you meet Luke anyhow?”

***********************

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Luke’s relationship with Alex Gallen was a carefully planned affair. The plan was drawn up the day after Gina’s party, the day after Luke decided that Craig had really moved on. 

It was started by his thoughts about what he had done to Craig.

Planning continued as Luke resigned himself to the fact that Craig never wanted to see him again.

Once he thought he had let Craig go, Luke decided he wanted to reclaim himself, or, in the event of there being nothing to claim, invent himself.

To get his plan underway, Luke had got his bearings in Highgate almost a fortnight before he actually went to Alex’s shop and then he thought long and hard about why he was going to the shop at all.

He thought about what kind of relationship he might actually like, what kind of relationship he might be able to actually engage in, given that everything he’d had so far had been so unfulfilling.

He disregarded any notion of what he thought he might have had with Craig, only because when he examined this he realised that he had no notion of what he wanted with Craig. All he could conclude was that he wanted to be with him, whether in London, Pakistan or an igloo. The circumstances were irrelevant, he decided, being with Craig was the focus. And that wasn’t going to happen.

So he dismissed all that and thought about what he really wanted.

He was very honest with himself.

He wanted something intense, something that extended him.

He wanted something that scared him.

He wanted something that made him feel singular, different, revered.

He wanted something that would still be relevant in five years, ten years, forty years.

He wanted to be in a relationship with someone he admired.

He wanted to be with someone he could trust with his murkiest desires and deepest vulnerabilities.

He wanted the comfort of someone older, he thought. Someone who would not mind his flaws, who would not think of him in the disparaging way Craig did, or some of his colleagues or some of his family.

He wanted some tenderness.

He wanted someone to need and to be needed by.

He wanted someone he could, in turn, comfort and excite.

Most of all, he wanted someone who made Craig disappear once and for all, the same way Craig had made him disappear.

But first he had to get through a ten day shift.

******************

Winter had well and truly set in by late November. 

Down in Brighton, Craig had just about given up on getting the Area Press Manager to take a walk with him down along the coast in the steely Saturday afternoon light.

“Why do you want to go out and get cold?” the Area Press Officer asked dismissively.

Another jab. Craig is getting used to them. “Well, we could wear coats and if we walked, we’d get warm,” he explains patiently.

“We’re warm now,” he answers, rolling on the couch, already a little bored at the idea of a walk.

“It’s be nice to do something like that together,” Craig says as he walks over to him and then decides to toss in a bribe. “And when we got back I could warm you up properly.” He slips his hands under the Area Press Manager’s thin Calvin Klein sweater.

“Why not just cut out the middleman and warm me up now?” the younger man suggests with a lazy smile.

Craig shrugs.

“And besides,” he adds, moving under Craig’s hands, “You know I have to go out tonight.”

It is true, he has yet another business dinner go to. He never asks Craig along to these dinners but turns up at the flat later at night, smelling of wine and cigarette smoke, making his way back into Craig’s bed.

Craig wants to ask again why he is never invited but doesn’t want to appear clingy. He feels clingy though, clingy and overlooked.

******************

 

In London, Luke is wrapped against the cold by a Brora cashmere scarf and he  
is drinking a wonderful Cabernet Sauvignon in a tiny pub down near Hampstead Heath. It is Alex’s local. Currently Alex is trying to teach Luke to taste wines.

“Roll it over your tongue,” Alex advises, leaning in a little so he can whisper to him. “Pretend it’s me.”

Luke looks at him closely, and swirls the ruddy drink over his tongue.

“Now swallow and breathe through your mouth.”

Luke does what he is told.

Alex watches, catching a brief scent of the wine on Luke’s breath.

“You’re very lovely when you’re obedient,” Alex tells him gently.

Luke smiles at him with his eyes.

 

It is dark when they get back to the flat.

“Did you enjoy that lesson?” Alex asks him, pulling him in close.

“Yes,” Luke answers briefly, leaning his face forward to be kissed. He knows what to expect.

Alex gently covers Luke’s mouth with his hand. “No,” he says as they stand in the dark. “You know the rules. Inside, on the bed. Take off everything. Leave the light off”.

Luke does what he told. He is quivering when Alex comes to him a little later.

***********************

On the fourth of December, Gina, who theoretically should have knocked off two hours ago, is finishing a quarterly report on the incidence of domestic violence in the district. It is very depressing.

She is both annoyed and relieved when Tony Stamp knocks at her door.

“Come in, PC Stamp. I could use the diversion.”

“Ma’am.” He appears very agitated.

“Something the matter?”

“Ma’am,” he says again, indicating that he would like to close the door.

“Close it,” she says. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know where to begin,” Tony says.

“Oh just tell me. Honestly, have I ever done or said anything that would make you think I like to beat around the bush?” Gina smiles at him, trying to make him relax.

Tony responds with a weak smile. “Ma’am.”

She waits. He looks around the room, trying to work out where to begin.

Her patience is running out.

“PC Stamp!” she says, exasperated. So Tony dives right in.

“Well, Ma’am. You’ve met Luke Ashton’s new, umm, partner?”

“Hmm, I met him briefly when he met up with Luke at the pub last week.” She smiles a little at Tony’s hesitation at the word partner. He has not yet got his mind around boyfriend, at least not for boys.

“What did you think?”

“Nasty oleaginous git,” she says quickly. Tony stares at her a bit blank, so she explains. “Greasy. Oily.”

He nods and looks at her for a bit with what Gina thinks is despair.

“Go on.” Gina waits.

“I’ve just had PC Best pull me up on the way out, he was in a right state.”

“What? Because of Luke’s new boyfriend?”

Tony shakes his head. “None of us have seen much of Luke over the last few weeks, not since he’s been with this bloke…we never see him in the locker room after the shift, we don’t see him before the shift.”

“Go on.”

“Gary left his wallet in the locker room today and went back in to get it, Luke was getting changed. Gary said he had his back to him when he walked in and he was black and blue.” Tony sounds like he might cry.

“Who, Ashton?”

Tony nods. “Gary said he looked like he had a right hiding. When he saw Gary he pulled his shirt on double quick and just walked out.” He can’t say any thing else, and looks at her, his eyes pleading.

Gina shakes her head a bit in disbelief, trying to sort it out.

“So what you’re saying is that someone has given Luke a hiding?”

Tony closed his eyes for a minute.

“Gary said the marks looked like welts. You know, from a belt or strap.”

Gina stares at Tony.

“You think his boyfriend is doing this?”

“Well, who else? He’s so secretive and quiet these days, who’d know? But you met him, you saw what he was like.”

“Well, you met him too. What did you think?”

Tony sighed. “I’m always suspicious of people in their fifties who get involved with people in their twenties. Especially people like him.”

Gina thinks for minute. It’s pretty clear, she thinks.

“There’s nothing we can do,” she tells him flatly.

“Ma’am!"

“Tony, Luke’s what, twenty five? Twenty six? He can make his own decisions about who he wants to be with and what he wants to do with them. I can’t ask him to explain the nature of his relationship. He’s a grown man. If Luke’s involved in a bit of rough play, it’s none of our business.”

They’re both quiet for a minute, thinking it through.

“What about Best?” Gina says quietly.

“Ma’am?” Tony’s confused.

“Will he keep his mouth shut?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. He’s pretty shaken up by the whole thing. Luke and him are – were – pretty good mates.”

“And you?”

Tony thinks for a minute. “You’re right, it’s none of our business.”

She looks at him closely until he says what she wants him to do. “I won’t say anything to Luke about it either,” Tony says finally.

A few days later Gina wonders in to the CAD room where she knows Luke is rostered. She chats idly with Pete for a few minutes then saunters over to Luke. He smiles at her and takes his headpiece off.

“Ma’am?”

“I see you’re working the Christmas break, PC Ashton,” she says, leaning against the desk.

“I don’t have any plans, and I could use the overtime,” he said pleasantly. “Besides, it’s always pretty interesting here over Christmas.”

“As opposed to the rest of the year, when it’s deadly quiet,” she quipped.

He smiles at her. Nice of her to pop down for a chat, he’s thinking.

She spies a portion of a thin red whelt on his left wrist, just under the cuff of his shirt, a mark like a bracelet.

The tinny voice of a call comes through the headset he is holding and he indicates with his eyes that he has to take it.

“Carry on,” she says with a note of resignation. She’s seen what she wanted to see.

What she couldn’t see was the extremely beautiful platinum chain fastened with a heavy diamond studded padlock around his ankle. It has been expertly fashioned from a rare 1920’s fob chain that Alex found in pieces at an estate sale in upstate New York a couple of years ago. He’s been waiting, he told Luke, for the right person to wear it.

He fixed it around Luke’s ankle as the ligature marks were forming last night.

*********************

A week or so later, Gina sees Luke when she's standing outside in the freezing cold, having a cigarette. He has a nasty little cut on his bottom lip, the result of a particularly vicious kiss a few nights ago. 

“Ow, how’d you do that?” she asks, touching her own bottom lip with her index finger.

“Oh, misjudged the weights in the gym, bit my lip accidentally when I dropped one,” he smiles with a silly-me grin.

“Well, as long as you didn’t do it walking into a door, ” Gina replies, not smiling at all.

When Luke has gone inside, she wonders if he is coping with this. She stamps her cigarette out into the icy concrete and goes back inside.

When she gets home that night, Gina calls Craig. She is not really sure what she will tell him, or whether in fact she should mention Ashton and his painful preferences at all.

She chickens out as soon as soon as Craig answers the phone.

“Hey,” he says when he realises it’s her. He sounds a little down.

“Craig, I have a very important question to ask you.”

He immediately thinks of Luke.

“Go on.”

“The Area Press Manager. I have to know.”

“What?” Craig is currently feeling a little cool towards the Area Press Officer.

“What’s his name?”

Craig smiles quietly, knowing that no matter how he says it, she is going to laugh.

“Promise me you won’t laugh,” he says gravely.

“Cross my heart and hope to live in Blackpool,” Gina promises. 

He allows a few seconds for a dramatic queenly pause.

“Rupert Cornelius,” he says quietly.

She laughs so loudly and so long Craig has to hold the phone away from his ear. 

 

In the very early stags of their relationship, Craig fooled him self thoroughly about his attraction to the Area Press Officer. He thought the young man was charming, witty, clever, sensitive and erudite.

After a couple weeks, wherein they fucked so much both men stung a little when they walked but were unable to sustain a conversation of any depth for more than three minutes, Craig was willing to admit to himself that the attraction was largely a physical one, albeit very satisfying.

By Christmas, Craig had recognised that there were many flaws in the relationship and the Area Press Officer himself.

Towards the end of the relationship Craig owned up to the fact that more than anything he wanted to settle down, he wanted a regular boyfriend, he wanted someone to come home to and was happy to stay in a flawed relationship to achieve these things.

After it was over, he admitted freely that he still missed Luke terribly and was prepared to try any kind of half arsed relationship to plug that gap.

Chapter 18  
Not long to go

 

Late night on December seventeenth, Craig inched along the bed and snuggled in close.

He had put off discussing Christmas with Rupert for as long as possible. He hoped Rupert might bring it up but Rupert rarely introduced any new topics of conversation, so Craig, in need of an agenda, raised the question himself.

“What do you want to do for Christmas?” he asked deep into the warm soft neck.

“Nothing,” Rupert replied. “I hate Christmas.”

This was the biggest jab so far.

“I’m going home to see my family in Wales.”

“I have to go down to Surrey to mine. I’m not happy about it.”

“When are you going?”

“The Friday before.”

Craig did his sums.

“In three days!”

“Is it?” Rupert is completely unconcerned.

Craig moves a bit, half rolls onto his back.

“Do you want to do something together before?”

“Like what?”

“Well, dinner? I could cook something. I don’t know, what would you like to do?”

“Fuck. And we can do that any time of year,” Rupert replies.

Craig is more irritated than hurt. “Okay, so no dinner, no celebration, no presents, nothing?” (He really does like an agenda.)

“Nothing,” Rupert sighs deeply and then turns over. “Look, we’ve only been seeing eachother a few weeks. It’s too soon to start sharing major religious holidays. And anyway, I really hate Christmas.” He believes this to be a perfectly reasoned response.

“Fair enough.” Craig rolls over to his own, slightly colder, side of the bed.

***********************

The next day Craig calls Jenny in her office in London.

“Gilmore,” she snaps when she answers the phone.

“Same here,” he says quickly.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, I got it. Stop worrying,” she complains.

“You have to take it back. He doesn’t want it,” Craig said sadly.

“What? You asked him? Not like you to spoil a surprise.” She is tapping away an email to Zurich as she speaks to him.

“He hates Christmas, doesn’t want a present, doesn’t want to do anything and in any case he’s going down to Surrey on Friday. So take it back.”

“He hates Christmas?” Jenny is genuinely surprised.

“That’s what he told me.”

“Well, he doesn’t deserve a present. Fuck him. Oh Jesus. I have to go. Crisis.” And she hangs up in his ear.

 

That afternoon, Jenny Gilmore told her assistant to tell all callers she was in a meeting and then ducked down to the Prada store in Bond Street.

“I need to exchange this,” she tells the sales associate.

“Is there a problem?”

“I’ve inadvertently bought the wrong size. I need the large.”

“Taille,” says the sales associate.

“Whatever,” says Jenny, giving him a quick flash of her eyes.

The sales associate immediately sets off to get an identical black cashmere sweater in a larger size.

“You’re very lucky. This is the last one. Is it a gift?”

“Yes, it is.” She watches as the beautiful garment is wrapped in delicate paper. “It’s for my brother. He’s been very good this year,” she adds.

*************************

It is like nothing he ever imagined.

The trust, the shocking trust, the pain, the rewards.

Luke is deeply involved with Alex. Away from him, Luke finds life colourless, predictable. When he is with him everything is difficult, marvelous, frightening.

The trust. Luke has to trust him with everything. Trust him when he tightens his grip, trust him when he covers his eyes, trust him when he binds his hands together. The pain can be exquisite or it can be intolerable.

But afterwards there are the rewards and they wonderful. The gentle kisses, the sweet murmurs, the validation. Being held. Alex listens to him, asks him things.

The pain and then the rewards.

But as December wears on, Luke fails to notice that the gap between the pain and the rewards gets wider and wider. And by the time he does, of course, it is too late.

*********************

It is seven pm on New Years Eve. Craig is sitting in his lounge, listening to Automatic For The People. He is alone, unless you count Peggy.

He had been invited to three parties - one in London, one in Swansea, one in Brighton. He agreed, in principle, to all three and realised late in the afternoon that he really didn’t want to go to any.

That morning he got a text message from Rupert.

Staying Surrey till 1/4 party tonight will call tomorrow

Craig didn’t bother replying. He went for a walk along the coast and stayed out as long as he could bear the cold.

Gina rang in the afternoon, not long after he got home. She was planning a quiet night too.

“I don’t see why we have to celebrate having to get through another bloody year,” she told him.

 

And now, five hours before the New Year starts, Craig is alone, reading the End of the Affair. He is stretched out on the couch and Peggy is curled on his stomach. 

“I hate this book,” he tells her.

He jumped when the phone rang.

“I was going to surprise you,” Gina said, apparently on her mobile.

“How?”

“I was going to drop in with some wine and chocolate and get fat and pissed with you for New Year,” she explained.

He smiles. He’d love some company.

“Well, why don’t you?” he asks.

“I don’t know where you bloody live!” she laughs at him. “I’m down near the bloody pier in my car, I’ve driven from London, and it’s only just occurred to me that I don’t know where you live!”

So the night started with a laugh.

“You know there’s a cat on your lounge,” Gina tells him when she arrives a little later.

“That’s Peggy,” Craig tells her, smiling at the chocolates. “Nice of you to bring these!” he smiles.

“Some one gave me a book of astrology cooking for Christmas. It has a list of things in the back of foods you should give each star sign. Apparently, according to this book, you have give Tauruses chocolates. So who am to argue?”

“I think we got the same kind of book. Who’s the wine for then?” he asks as he reads the label on the Merlot.

“That’s for Scorpios. Since when have you had a cat? I wouldn’t have picked you as…,”

“Don’t even say it,” he warns.

“Bugger! It’s crying out for a pussy joke. Any way, when did you become the typical single thirty something with a fabulous career, sad love life and a cat?”

“She’s a stray. She just moved in.”

“And I can see by the way the fat overfed thing is sleeping on the couch that you made every effort to discourage her.”

“She grew on me. I’m going to make some food. You hungry?”

“Of course I’m hungry. I didn’t bring you wine and chocolates just for the pleasure of seeing your cat. I expect dinner.”

“Good. Come in to the kitchen. You can talk to me while I cook.”

“Nice Christmas?” she asks, slurping wine and watching him crack eggs over a stainless steel bowl.

“Yeah, it was nice, very nice. You?”

“Actually, it was lovely. I went up to my sister’s place in Derby with her family. I had a ball. You were with your family?”

He nods, slicing pieces of bacon and chives and tossing them into a smaller stainless steel bowl. Organised, Gina thinks.

“Please tell me you took your cat with you.”

Craig interrupts his cooking to give her a look. “I did not take my cat with me,” he says pompously. “Lilly up the road fed her for me while I was away.”

“What about Rupert? Did he go?”

“Rupert hates Christmas,” he says briefly.

“Ahh,” she says. “So things are a little strained, I take it.”

“We don’t have much in common,” Craig sighs. “I’m strained, he’s indifferent,” he adds stirring the eggs with a fork, just enough to break their yolks. “So it was strictly a family affair.”

“Does your family get on?” She’s curious about this.

“Oh yeah,” he answers quickly, looking over at her. “We all get on. Doesn’t yours?”

“Some of it,” Gina says dryly. “Did you cook on Christmas day?”

He shakes his head. “Actually, it was my grandmother’s turn. She said she wanted to do it for the last time, before she sells her house.” He smiles when he says this.

Gina looks at him quizzically. “Is she planning on dying?”

“No, she’s taking a cruise around the world and then checking herself into a nursing home!” Craig is clearly amused by this.

“That’s a fairly detailed plan. Good for her! Your family sound like an organised bunch,” Gina notes as she tops up her wineglass.

“Most of it is,” he says smiling, grinding back paper over the bacon and chives.

 

  
“So why did you call her Peggy?” Gina asks him as they sit happily on the lounge floor eating a rather good spaghetti carbonara. Peggy is curled around Gina’s feet, obviously knowing a kindred spirit when she meets one.

“She catches pegs,” Craig explained.

“What? Clothes pegs?”

“Yes. Every now and then she brings me a peg she’s caught.” He is still rather proud of that.

“It’s not much, is it?” Gina says.

“That’s what Amelia said.”

“Ah, Amelia. I like the sound of her. She sounds like a good cop.”

“She is.” They’re scraping their bowls. “There’s plenty more. Do you want seconds?”

“No, I’m full.” Gina pats her tum appreciatively. “That was fantastic. You do a fine carbonara.”

“It’s all in the application of the egg,” he tells her, smiling mysteriously.

“I wouldn’t have thought Carbonara was popular in Wales. Who taught you to apply eggs?”

“Sean. Actually most of what I know about cooking I learnt from Sean. He was a great cook.” Craig stretches back, hands on his stomach. He’s full too.

“Do you ever see him?”

“No, haven’t seen him since he came back for his – my – orchid. I heard on the grapevine that he met the love of his life and had a commitment ceremony a few months ago.” Craig seems unconcerned.

“You must miss him sometimes,” Gina says idly.

Craig thinks for a minute. “I miss being in a settled relationship. But I don’t really miss him, though. It wasn’t the most exciting union.”

“I thought you were happy.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I wasn’t Mr. Right for him, he wasn’t Mr. Right for me. We were both Mr. Approximate.”

“Sean didn’t think so when he came to get his – your- orchid.” Gina is gathering the bowls; Craig follows her to the kitchen.

“It was complicated. He didn’t know why I was going but I think he would have admitted in the end that he wasn’t any happier than I was. He was just clingy, I mean, clinging to the notion of being a couple rather than clinging to me.”

Craig rinses the bowls while Gina opens the second bottle of wine.

“Anyway,” he continues, “We had been at eachother’s throats in the last few weeks. He was a real drama queen. I mean, a real drama queen and he’d go into a hissy fit about the stupidest things then accuse me of not communicating, which of course I wasn’t because I didn’t want to cause any more hissy fits.”

“So he didn’t know why you finally left?”

“I couldn’t have told him. He would have gone ballistic. You saw how he reacted to the toaster and the – my – bloody orchid. If he knew about, if he knew why I really left, he would have bombed the station too.” Craig reaches up for clean wineglasses.

“Can’t we use the ones we have?” Gina asks.

“No. You should always start a new bottle wine with clean glasses,” he says sternly.

“Did Sean tell you that too?”

“No, that’s a Welsh thing.”

She looks at him for a minute then catches the look on his face. “Oh, piss off!” she laughs.

 

They are well in to the second bottle of wine when she ventures in to uncharted waters.

“You never ask about him,” she tries.

Craig twists his mouth slightly and buys a little time.

“Who?” he asks, not looking up.

“Oh don’t bloody who me, Gilmore. You know who I mean. PC Ashton.”

He can’t think of an excuse.

“I asked about him after your party,” he says.

“You asked about him after I brought him up. And that was the first time. You never mention him.” She’s finishes her glass and he pours her another.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “I, I really don’t know.” He drains the rest of the bottle into his own glass and takes a good swig.

“Do you miss him?”

He takes another sip.

“I don’t know,” and when she just looks at him, eyebrows raised slightly, he almost snaps. “Yes I bloody miss him. Satisfied?” He smiles at her, half defeated, half friendly.

“Why don’t you call him?”

He just looks at her, weary. “There’s no point,” he says finally.

“Well, there is if you still miss him.”

“No, there’s not. The whole thing was doomed from the start. I’ve thought it through a million times. There’s no point.” He takes another swig.

“Do you still love him?” She watches closely.

He looks up, his dark eyes heavy with sadness.

“Well? Do you?”

He looks down at the carpet. “I suppose. Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Well you should call him.”

“Call and tell him what? That I still love him? It didn’t mean anything to him the first time I said it and no matter what I offered he wasn’t remotely interested. By the time he changed his mind it was too late. He was married, Kerry was pregnant, I’d already transferred.” He can’t look at her.

“He changed his mind? When? I didn’t know this? Hang on, this is ciggy news.” She lights a cigarillo and he pushes the ashtray over to her.

“He came around the day before I left, before Dad took me back home. He came around to see, well, to see if I was still interested.”

“Little bastard. I told him to stay away from you. What did you say?”

He looks across the room then winces slightly at the memory.

“I tore the bejesus out of him. I called him everything I could lay my tongue to. I told him he was everything I hated in a man. I told him not to come near me ever again.” He looks up for her reaction.

“What’d he do?” Gina is amazed.

“He left. But what could I do? He’s married, Kerry, who deserved a lot better from him and from me, come to think of it, Kerry’s pregnant and he comes around as if he can kick start a relationship with me on the side. I was so hurt, so tired of every bloody thing from him.” He finishes his wine, and goes on, unable to let it go.

She looks at him with genuine sympathy.

“I hate to ask this but I have to know, what did you see in him? I mean, he’s hardly your type.”

He thinks about this for a minute.

“I don’t know, what’s anybody’s type?”

“Oh alright, Mr. bloody Pedant,” she says exasperated, “He’s young, a bit naïve, not what you call the most cultured of men, didn’t know whether he was gay or straight or pinto. He’s hardly the kind of person that a level headed, slightly older, confident, cultured man would find attractive.” 

 

“Well, I don’t agree. I thought he was brave...good-hearted. There was something really, I don’t know, gentle, vulnerable. Not girly or weak, something…I don’t know, pure. I thought he had a lot of, I don’t know, goodness about him.” Craig thinks a bit harder. “And he took his job seriously. He worked hard, and, well, the whole Medicin Sans Frontiers thing. I mean, you would know coppers who have the same thing happen, misjudge something, someone dies because of it. What happens? To the copper, I mean? “

Gina looks at him.

“They get hard, cynical”, he explains. “Or they hit the piss, or they lose their focus, or worse still, it doesn’t even affect them and they keep going.

“I mean, to pack up and go and work for a charity in Africa and then come back and give the force another go, well, I think it says a lot. It’s brave, and it’s honest. I admire that,” he says simply.

Gina admires Craig for having seen something so obvious that no one else has picked up about Luke.

“Can I ask a corny question?” She stubs her cigarette out, looking at him with wry eyes.

“Is there anything I could say that would stop you?”

“Course not. When did you fall in love with him? First sight, second sight, did your eyes meet over parade one morning. When?”

He tries to look stuffy but can’t help smiling when he thinks about it. He tells her about the first time he actually met Luke, in the shower.

“He just walks up to you in the all beyond and shakes your hand? What did you do?” Gina laughs.

Craig laughs as he remembers it. “I shook his hand! I was astonished. I didn’t know what to do. But that wasn’t it. I mean, it wasn’t half bad. I thought he was cute, but I didn’t fall him love with him. Not then. I’ve seen lots of naked men before. It takes a bit more than that for me.” He’s softened now.

“Well, when? When did you realise?”

Craig sighs deeply. He’s never told anyone this, he can hardly bear to think about it.

“Well, go on,” she urges. “It can’t be any worse than the shower.”

“You’re bloody impossible,” he says with affection. “It was the end of his first day. He was about to go and I was in custody. He comes bounding up to me, I mean, I’d been knocking spots off him all day, I’d been a real bastard, like I was supposed to be and he comes up, smiling, and asks me if I’d like to go and have a drink with him and Tony.” He goes quiet.

Gina stares at him for minute, waiting for more.

“That’s it?” she checks.

“Well, yeah. I mean, that was when I realised that I was in love with him.”

“That’s it?” she says again. “No great fanfare? No drama? He just asks you to the pub and that’s it?” She’s a little disappointed.

“Oh, I don’t know! He was just, he was lovely. He trusted me.” He rolls his eyes at her, mock exasperated. “He was just, I don’t know, I’d given him a hard time all day and he comes up to me, smiling, friendly. I don’t know. I just melted. I mean, not in front of him but inside. Never felt anything like it.” He looks up at her. “It was great. Terrible and great.”

She smiles kindly at him.

“Did you go to the pub?”

“No. I just turned him down, well, sort of turned him down and walked away,” he stops and thinks for a bit. “I’ve often thought that if I did, things might have worked out differently.”

“He might have snogged you before he met Kerry.” She laughs at her own joke.

Craig laughs with her. “No, not that but maybe we would have become friends. Maybe I would have got over him sooner, or maybe he would have worked it out quicker, if he got to know me outside work. Still, that would have been a disaster too.” He thinks a bit more, all the hurt surfacing again. Gina listens.

“It was doomed, no matter which way you look at it. I mean, he’s gay, I never doubted that, not from the beginning but…I don’t know.” He looks down again.

“No, tell me, what do you mean doomed? Why?”

“Well, I would have been his first. Sooner or later he would have needed to break out and experiment, do what we all do once we realise what we want. I don’t think he had done anything much at all. Probably a bit of groping, he’s probably tried the snog on someone before too but I’d bet he’s run away it like he did with me.” He stops, sighs again.

“We should start the third bottle,” he tells her.

“And the choccies. We should break out the choccies.”

“Excellent suggestion.”

“Well, he’s certainly experimenting,” Gina says as she reads the little menu that came with the chocolates. “Raspberry centre. Where are the ones in the purple wrapper?”

Craig points one out to her. He has a mouth full of coffee cream.

“Experimenting?”

“With his new boyfriend,” Gina answers, rolling the pink fondant around her tongue.

He shoots her a sharp look. “You’ve met him? The sugar daddy?”

“Yep, briefly. What do you know?”

He outlines Jenny’s Waterstones encounter.

“What do you know about him?” He wants to know, he doesn’t want to know. 

Gina unwraps a Turkish delight. “I’ve only met him once. I thought he was awful – stereotypical greasy pretentious old queen.” She pauses to fold the foil wrapper into a neat strip, missing Craig’s brief expression of relief.

“Is it true, do you think?” he asks, hesitant. “Master slave thing?” 

“I don’t know if I should tell you. Thing is, I’d really like your advice. I thought you might know more about this kind of relationship than I do. “

So she tells him about the constraint marks on Luke’s wrist, the bitten lip, the welt marks on his back.

Craig can’t look at her after a minute. He concentrates on keeping his face unreadable, trying to look unconcerned. For a brief second he remembers kissing Luke the first time in his office, how hard he had to concentrate not to wrap his arms around Luke and keep the rest of the world away from him forever. How wonderful it was to do that in the hotel, how perfectly he filled Craig’s arms, how strong he was, how hard his muscly body was, how much he loved being held. Hold me. An overwhelming protective wave rises through Craig and all he wants is to hold him again. 

My gorgeous boy.

Craig hears Gina’s voice and tunes back in.

“Sorry?”

“I said, should I be worried? Is it a common kind of relationship? Does it sound okay to you?” She’s waiting for reassurance.

He sighs, not really sure where to start.

“Look, I don’t know…I don’t know the bloke and I don’t really know Luke. I don’t know what he’s into.” The thought pains him a little, he frowns and shuts his eyes for a second.

He tries again.

“It’d be the same if it were a straight relationship. I don’t know, would you be worried if it were Kerry in a similar relationship with a man the same age?”

“Yes, I would!” Gina cut in quickly.

“Why?”

She thinks for a moment. “Well, it’s a power difference, isn’t it? And the beating, I mean….,”

“But that power difference is the whole point,” he says with surprising clarity. “Those kinds of relationships are based on the trust that comes with the power. If the relationship is a good one, if both partners know what they’re doing, it’s very satisfying. It’s actually a balance of power.” He is dispassionate, detached momentarily.

“Do you think Luke knows what he’s doing?” Gina asks, straight to the point as usual.

“How would I know?” he half laughs. “I mean, you could argue he was seeking something similar through me. I was older, I was his boss, maybe this is exactly the kind of relationship he wants.” He burns with private jealousy for a brief moment.

“Did, if it’s okay for me to ask this, did you want that?” Gina ventures.

He looks at her, straight faced, but his eyes a little lively. “Well, I’m not into the master slave thing,” he smiles.

“No, the power, the trust thing?”

He tries to explain it to her. “Look, it was different for us. I don’t think Luke had any expectation that I’d tie him up and I certainly didn’t want to belt him.” His face twists a little with a smile. “Though Christ knows I should have a couple of times.”

Gina laughs out loud. Then she said “You don’t strike me as the violent type.”

“I’m not. But it was different for us. I think, well as far I can work out, we sort of…,” he phases out, unsure or unwilling to go on.

“What? Come on, we’ve had three bottles of wine. We’re supposed to be spilling our hearts out now.” She takes another sip from her glass.

“I think we sort of tuned in to eachother in an odd way. I can’t explain it. There were a couple of times, just a couple, when we got on really well, when it very obvious that we were on the same wavelength.” He briefly sees Luke lying in his arms in the gold light of the hotel. The thought frustrates him and he tries to erase it. “It was doomed. Wrong place, wrong time,” he says, looking away.

“Right people?” she suggests.

He considers this, not sure how answer. Gina is silent, waiting.

“I really believe that if I’d met him a couple of years later, after he’d gone through all this, sorted himself out, we could have had a good thing,” he says finally.

“You could still meet him a couple of years later,” Gina tries.

“No, too much water under the bridge.” He looks over to her then rummages through the twinkling contents of the chocolate box.

“I don’t know if I could ever trust him again and I said some pretty horrible things to him last time I saw him. I think there’s been too much damage to ever pick it up again. And besides, it seems like he’s moved way beyond me,” Craig says, unwrapping a caramel fudge.

“And you’ve moved on too,” Gina points out. “New city, new job, new boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” he says desultorily, “S’pose I have.”

Gina looks at her watch. “Oh, it’s ten to one!”

“Happy New Year,” Craig smiles at her, his mouth clogged with chocolate.

 

Chapter 19  
More than half way

Luke wakes up on New Year’s Day very early. Alex is still asleep next to him, his back turned and silent.

It was a long arduous night. Luke’s legs are sore, the tendons under his arms ache from supporting his own weight.

He reaches out and strokes Alex’s shoulder, running his fingertips over the slightly crêpy skin. The skin feels warm and soft but it doesn’t feel quite right. He doesn’t taste right either, thinks Luke as he lightly kisses the still flesh.

Luke is unable to actually define what is slightly jarring about Alex but he knows he is not in love with him. He wants to be, he even pretends to be but he knows, as he lies next him, that he is not.

It’s hard work, this relationship. The emotional demands on Luke are enormous and he has the slightly bemused feeling that it is slipping out of his grasp a little too quickly. The kindly murmurs from Alex have ceased and he never asks Luke about himself any more. The relationship is based on what they do in the bedroom, circling around Alex’s domination and Luke’s submission.

Luke is tiring of it. He does not enjoy the increasing imbalance of power, nor does he enjoy the increasing coldness Alex employs.

But he does enjoy the challenge, he loves trusting someone so much with so many precious things.

Most of all he loves that the relationship has blotted out Craig. Craig would never approve, Craig would never understand, Craig would never be able to shell out two thousand for a watch. Too conservative, too judgmental, too poorly paid. Luke feels he’s set himself quite apart from Craig, widened the chasm between them irretrievably.

It makes Luke feel better. He’s distanced himself, made it impossible to consider ever having Craig again and made it impossible to have Craig like him. Given Craig a valid reason to hate him.

It’s five thirteen. Luke has to start at eight and he has to get home first. Check the bruises, cover them appropriately. His arms ache as he gets up to dress and as he pulls his sweater over his head the crimson bracelets are visible even in the poor light.

Craig would hate me, he thinks as he pulls on his trousers. Hate me more than he does already, not even find me attractive.

A trumped up slut with a nice arse. Everything he hates in a man. It makes Luke feel very powerful, to have actually become everything Craig loathes and still be standing.

He clips on his beautiful watch, then adjusts his anklet under his sock. Sometimes it rubs against the delicate tendon there.

“I’m going,” he whispers to Alex and leans over to kiss his cheek. Alex doesn’t stir.

Luke leaves the house silently and makes his way to the main road to get a taxi. He smiles to himself in the bitter glassy cold as he walks along alone.

************************

At work Luke is conscientious, focussed, careful not to give anything away. He keeps out of Sergeant Dale Smith’s way, feeling the hatred in Smith’s tart eyes whenever he passes Luke. You can’t touch me, thinks Luke; there’s not a thing you can say to me that will hurt me. I’m a poof, he feels like saying to Smith whenever he sees him. 

Luke came out not long after his marriage to Kerry fell apart. The gossip and the judgement would have been worth months of expended energy amongst his colleagues had it not been for Matt Boyden’s death. That shifted the spotlight off Luke almost immediately and Luke still feels grateful to Matt for this.

Sympathy and support fell heavily Kerry’s way, as it should have. But by the time his colleagues had time to consider to Luke’s declaration, it was already three months old and Luke had adjusted to it somewhat, making him better equipped to deal with any cruelty.

There was none. Tony stood by him, Polly made a point of supporting him openly, Nick and Gary maintained the friendship because they liked him and enjoyed working with him. Reg congratulated him and wished him well, Des sneered but bit his tongue, in part because he was happy to give Reg the benefit of the doubt, but mostly because Des had never liked Kerry.

Luke enjoyed a couple of other cosy pockets within the station; Jim Carver shook his hand and wished him well, June Ackland didn’t waiver in her attitude to him. Luke wondered sometimes if she even knew. Jack Meadows, who had always liked Luke, was the only person to offer commiseration over the lost baby and made it clear that Luke could always come to him if he needed someone to talk to.

The rest of them sided with Kerry and loathed Luke privately on her behalf. There was no outward animosity between Kerry and Luke but they rarely saw eachother anyway. Certainly she wouldn’t offer more than a cursory nod when she passed him the corridor.

So it came as a big surprise when she pulled him aside in the corridor before parade on January fourth.

“I want to talk to you today. Refs will do. See me outside.”

“Alright,” he answered, too surprised to say anything else.

She was waiting for him the clear cold winter sun at ten thirty. He walked towards her, hands in pockets, a half friendly smile on his face.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I’m leaving here in two weeks. I’m going to Reading. I’ve met someone and I’m getting married.” She said it one breath, almost like a curse.

“Congratulations,” he said, wondering what she might like to hear.

“The guys are having a farewell do for me on my last Friday here. I don’t want you to come and I don’t want you to put in for any present.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

“Anything you want to say? If you do, say it now, because I don’t intend seeing you again in my life.”

He thought for a minute. What’s the point?

“I’m sorry for what I did to you and I always will be. I hope you’ll be very happy. I hope you get everything you want.” He smiled, because he really meant it. “And thank you for keeping Craig out of it. I really appreciate that you never told anyone about him and me.”

“Was it worth it?” she sneered in response.

“What?” He looks at her confused.

“What you did to me. You and Gilmore. Was it worth it?”

It was the best night of my life, Luke thinks. “Depends which way you look it,” he answered. 

She glares at him. “I heard Gilmore dropped you like a hot scone afterwards. Couldn’t get away from you quick enough.”

Luke drops his eyes. “True. He did. But mostly out of respect for you.”

“Yeah, great respect he had for me, fucking my fiancé the night before my wedding.”

“I wasn’t an unwilling accomplice,” Luke replies, anger rising. He stares at her and suddenly wonders why she ever seemed so appealing. “I really loved him. I really miss him.” This is all he needs to say. He has made his point very clear.

“Fuck off, Luke,” she spits at him.

“Good luck,” he says as she walks away.

 

And that’s the last thing he ever says to her.

***************************

Gina and Craig meet up, bleary eyed, near his kitchen on New Year’s day. She is sitting at his table in a Welsh Rugby Union jersey and a pair of his tracksuit pants. She leans over the table holding an extremely large mug of coffee and Peggy is curled up luxuriously in her lap.

“I’m not sure if this is for you or for me,” Gina says, pointing to a partly chewed clothespeg on the table.

Craig’s eyes feel dry. It’s as if they make noises in his skull when he looks around, so he attempts to keep them very still.

“You can have it,” he says quietly. “I’ve got lots.”

“I’ve made coffee,” she croaks kindly.

“Is it strong?” he asks, looking straight ahead.

She considers this for a minute.

“Heartstopping,” she concludes.

He sits down besides her armed with a large mug that is emblazoned in plain script with the legend, “Captain Sensible.”

Gina reads this and starts laughing gently.

He lets her go for a minute and then, still not moving his eyes, explains. “My sister gave it to me.”

 

“So true,” she smiles. “I wished I had thought of it.”

Then they look at each other and fully appreciate how hungover they are.

“You look nice in red,” he says, nodding toward the jersey. “Matches your eyes.”

She laughs a little more. “I’m going to say something really nasty to you when I feel bit better.”

“Hmmm. We should have some breakfast. Do you want breakfast?”

Gina blanches a little. “Not really, although, no actually, I would like something. Something delicate, I think.”

“Your hangover is different to mine. I want something…,” he struggles to think of a contrast to delicate, “Butch. Something butch and greasy.”

“I don’t want to be here if you’re going to cook something butch and greasy,” she says firmly.

“Me neither. I want someone to cook it for me.”

They are quiet for a moment, thinking very slowly.

“Would you do me the honour of joining me for breakfast in a cafe?” Craig says after a while.

Gina looks at him and nods her pounding head very gently. He’s more hungover than I am, she decides.

 

They are considerably brighter when they are sitting in a nice café down in the lanes later that morning.

Craig is reading the menu; Gina is lighting a cigarette.

“Why would anyone be a vegan?” he wonders out loud.

“I have no idea but I have always preferred my pleasures undiluted. Horses for courses.” She scans her own menu briefly then snaps it shut.

“Very good planning on your part to bring your overnight bag,” he says, laying his own menu on the table. Gina is wearing fresh clothes and smells very nice.

“I knew you’d have a spare room,” she says casually.

“How did you know? I never told you.”

“Craig, there are two kinds of poofs. There are vague, skittish poofs who, while they may be clever, never manage to achieve any kind of order. Then there are the careful, forward thinking organised poofs who have everything under control all the time. You, my dear, are an organised poof.”

Craig stares at her, assessing her description.

“Am not,” he says after a minute.

She just stares at him.

“I have a disorganised side,” he protests.

“You don’t have a disorganised bone in your body. I have never seen anyone make lists like you. Your flat is the trademark of the organised poof. Even your cat is organised.”

“Oh, how is my bloody cat organised?” He is indignant.

“Oh, she just is. Don’t be so defensive. There’s nothing wrong with being an organised poof. I prefer organised poofs.” She moves towards him conspiratorially. “You know, I think Ashton’s an organised poof too.”

Craig leans on the table on his folded arms. He wants to know, he wants more detail, but won’t say anything.

“Apparently his flat is really nice,” Gina tells him. “Very tidy, very attractive. Very homey.” She stubs out her cigarette, fancying that she feels his curiousity rising.

“Nice dungeon too? All the whips soaking in clean water?” Craig asks, his eyes a little brighter.

Gina laughs out loud.

Craig smiles. “When did you see his place?” 

“I haven’t. Polly’s been around there a couple of times, she told me. He has a very nice coffee maker, according to Polly and lots of books on shelves. His cds are apparently in alphabetical order, bearing in mind we’d have to make allowances for Luke’s spelling.” Gina looks at him and nods. “Organised poof.”

“I didn’t know Luke and Polly were friends.” Craig is impressed, curious to hear about Luke’s flat.

A waitress with three facial piercings comes to take their order.

“Craig, you’re having the vegan breakfast aren’t you?” Gina says nicely.

“You’ll have to forgive my mother,” Craig says to the waitress without missing a beat. “She’s been drinking. I want the all-in fry up. And coffee, white.”

Gina is laughing, partly because he was quick and mostly because she can’t think of a comeback. She orders poached eggs and they continue their interesting friendly banter.

The waitress takes the order up to the open kitchen at the side of the café. The cook, Ned, has been watching Craig since he arrived and listening carefully to the parts of the conversation he could catch.

Organised poof, Ned thinks happily, looking at Craig’s broad shoulders. You can organise me any day, sweetheart. He then proceeds to prepare the best damned fry up he has ever made.

 

Chapter 20  
Out of the Frying Pan

 

Gina is driving back to London, having left Craig in Brighton to walk home.

“It’s freezing,” she says before she goes. “Let me drive you.”

“We discussed this. I want to walk. Go home,” he tells her cheerfully as they stand at her car down at the pier.

She’s about to get into her car and then turns to him, taking his arm.

“I should never have interfered,” she says suddenly. “At the hospital. I should never have come between you and Luke. I’m sorry I did that. I wished I hadn’t.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells her and he means it. “You did what you thought was right.” He stops to see her reaction then continues. “I would have done the same thing in your position,” he reassures her.

“Would you?” She doesn’t believe him.

“Probably,” he smiles. “It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t have mattered what anyone did. It would never have worked out. Forget about it.” He is looking at her with sincerity and this makes her more sorry.

She doesn’t want to ply him with platitudes, so she kisses his cheek and lets him go.

“Take care, sweetie,” she says.

“You too. Happy New Year.” He hugs her briefly and makes his way along the shorefront.

He thinks about lots of things in the hour it takes him to walk home. He thinks about Gina, he thinks about Polly, he thinks about the marks on Luke’s back.

Even if he really did love me, Craig decides, he doesn’t now. He’s well and truly left me behind. He wonders about the point of it all, how two people could fall in love to no avail. Doomed, he concludes.

For a few minutes he concludes that he probably isn’t in love with Luke anymore but deep in his heart he can’t sustain the thought.

Best to accept that I probably always will love him and leave it at that, Craig decides. And there is every possibility that I will love someone as much again and that they’ll love me. Every possibility.

He feels a bit better, walking along in the bleak January weather, the wind so hard that he walks along in a small continual thin cloud of ocean spray. He likes the taste of salt he catches occasionally on his dry cold lips.

Then he thinks about Rupert who, Craig suspects, accurately, is screwing around in London. The thought barely bothers him and he decides it’s time for Rupert to go. Waste of my time, he thinks.

When he gets home, there are two friendly, lively messages from Rupert on the answering machine. He’s coming home earlier than he planned, he says he’s missing Craig.

Tough, thinks Craig and erases both messages.

A little later, Craig negotiates space with Peggy as he hangs washed shirts over the heater.

“Bugger off. Go sleep on the sofa,” he tells her as she playfully bats at the sleeves of the garments. She pays no heed, satisfied to have his attention and, in the way of all cats, keen to irritate him a little.

“Don’t make me sell you for medical experiments,” he warns her.

*********************

“You’re breaking up with me?” Rupert asks him astonished the next evening.

“Well, there’s not really much to break up,” Craig says calmly as he sits with him in the Thanh Binh restaurant down on the edge of Brighton. It was Rupert’s choice and, Craig noted, only the second time they had been out to dinner together.

Rupert glares at him as he rests his chopsticks on the plate. “I’m sorry? Not much to break up? We’ve been sleeping together for two months. Is that your definition of not much?”

“Yeah, actually, it is.” Craig skillfully maneuvers his way around the excellent sugar cane prawns. “Sex. No commitment, no shared interests, we never do anything together except fuck. It’s not much.”

He pincers a piece of the succulent white meat with the chopsticks, dips it in the thin bright chili sauce and places it into his mouth. He’s not looking at Rupert while he speaks, apparently finding the food a good deal more interesting than Rupert or his contrived wounds.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Rupert says.

“Believe it,” Craig tells him as the seafood casserole with ginger arrives in a clay pot.

Rupert stares at him hard, trying to get him to look up. He’s got his work cut out for him, the Vietnamese dishes are extremely good and Craig is hungry.

“This is unbelievable. I take you out to dinner and you dump me?”

Craig spoons a couple of mounds of steamed jasmine rice into his bowl and then covers it with the fat shiny pieces of seafood that sparkle in the rich scarlet sauce. The sharp scent of ginger rises to his nostrils, the tender pieces of squid and fish literally melt in his mouth.

He looks up at Rupert as he swallows.

“I’m not dumping you. There’s nothing to dump you from. I’m telling you I don’t want to see you anymore because we have nothing in common but sex and I want more. Lots more.” He looks at him without any emotion. Then he returns to the seafood, which gets better with each mouthful.

“It’s good sex,” Rupert ventures.

“It’s just sex,” Craig replies. “I want more.”

“Like what?” Rupert seems confused.

“I want to talk with someone. I want to go places with someone. I’d like to be included in their plans occasionally, I’d like to be introduced to their friends. I’d like to think that even if they couldn’t be with me at Christmas then at least they’d want to spare a couple of hours to celebrate it with me in some other way. I’d like to cook for someone, I’d like them to cook for me….,”

“Alright alright! Look, I’m busy, I work all the time.”

“So do I,” Craig points out, spooning more seafood into his bowl. “And I’d like some honesty,” he adds, letting him know that he can sense infidelity at a thousand paces.

Rupert turns his handsome face away slightly, guilt flashing briefly across his features. It’s quick and he ignores it. “I didn’t know you wanted to meet my friends…,”

“You never asked.”

“Look, my friends are different to you, I didn’t know whether...,” he trails off and tries to reconstruct his sentence.

Craig scoops a steamed mussel and some shreds of ginger into his mouth. Without looking up he asks, “Different in what way?”

“Well, you know, I was at boarding school with them, they all went to university, they’re in good jobs, they’re my age, they like to party...” Once he’s said it, even Rupert realises how this sounds.

It is the final jab. Craig doesn’t give any indication that this has hurt him but it has, quite badly. Dumb, state educated. Not very posh.

“See?” he says finally. “We don’t have anything in common. Are you going to have some seafood? Because if you don’t soon, I’m going to eat the lot.”

Rupert feels embarrassed and not a little shocked at being dumped for the first time in his life. To add insult to injury, he is being dumped by someone who went to a comprehensive school and who never got a degree.

“Its all yours,” he says, standing up. “I’m leaving.” And he does.

Craig is unconcerned. The waiter brings over the final dish, the Chinese vegetables with duck in hot sour sauce. He eats all of that too.

**********************

Craig is walking home alone, still smarting at the implication of Rupert’s final assessment of him. No degree, no class. Same as Luke with his rich cultured boyfriend. It hurts awfully and he feels that he has no defence against it.

He knows that they are superficial attributes and the last thing he would seek in a prospective partner but it hurts to think that his other fine qualities are overshadowed for his lack of wealth or diplomas.

I could be alone forever in this shallow world, he thinks sadly. 

He looks up as he walks past the café where he had brekkie with Gina yesterday. Must go back there for breakfast again, he thinks, nice place.

“All-in fry up with white coffee,” a voice says to him.

He looks over and sees a tall man with dark blonde hair and phenomenally thick black eyelashes twisting a padlock into place.

“Pardon?” Craig says.

“That’s what you had for breakfast here yesterday,” the man answers with a scrape of a Scottish brogue.

Craig looks at him, trying to remember if he saw him.

“You were with a lady with dark hair. She had a hangover. She had poached eggs,” the man adds helpfully.

Craig smiles at him, trying to place him.

“I’m Ned. I’m the cook,” the man says, and extends his hand to Craig. They are the same height, and look eachother comfortably in the eye.

Craig shakes his hand, and vaguely remembers the open kitchen.

“Craig. You do a mean fry up,” he tells him sincerely.

“I know. You ate the lot.” Ned has a wide grin, freckled fair skin and clearly defined dark eyebrows. He looks happy to see Craig, as if he’d been expecting him.

“Well, I had a hangover too,” he smiles a little shyly.

So cute, thinks Ned.

“Well, you carry it better than your lady friend,” Ned tells him.

“She’s no lady, she’s an old colleague,” Craig tells him, getting that out of the way.

There’s a brief lull as Ned finishes locking up.

“I’m just finishing for the night,” he tells Craig hopefully. “Are you on your way somewhere?”

“I’m walking home. I’ve just had dinner with an old friend.”

“Do you live in town?” Ned walks a little closer to him.

“No, Peacehaven.”

“That’s a fair walk! Where did you have dinner?”

“Thanh Binh, Vietnamese place down near the Palace.”

Ned looks at him knowingly. “Sugar cane prawns,” is all he says.

“Yep. Fantastic.” Craig looks him in the eye and smiles at him.

“Are you in a hurry? Do you have to get home?” Ned asks.

Craig shakes his head. “No, not at all.” Short order cook, he thinks.

“I was just going for a beer. Why don’t you join me?”

 

  
Ned takes him to a small, older pub in the lanes. It’s intimate and the music is adjusted so people can have conversations without shouting. It’s Ned’s favourite pub, not only because of the ambience.

“They have the best bar here. You can get beers from all around the world. Do you have a favourite?”

Craig wonders if he will appear uncultured and boring if he just orders ale.

“Just a pint,” he says.

“You can have a pint anywhere,” Ned says, friendly. “Let me chose something to complement the aftertaste of good Vietnamese food.”

He comes back with a pair of Redbacks.

“It’s Australian beer, brewed with wheat.”

Craig, who still hasn’t forgiven the Australians for winning the Rugby World Cup, looks a little skeptical.

“What? You don’t like Australian beer?” Ned seems a little concerned.

“I’ve never tried it,” he answers.

“Well,” and Ned clinks their bottles together in cheers.

“Cheers,” Craig says and takes a good swig of the crisp cold malty brew.

“It’s very nice,” he says begrudgingly.

“They do a good beer,” Ned says cheerfully. “You can almost forgive them their bloody Rugby players.”

They sit and talk for two hours. Ned is funny, unpretentious, will turn thirty-one in two months and is fascinated by Craig.

The bar is calling for last drinks when he makes his move.

“You still want to walk home?” he asks. “It’s midnight.”

“It’s not a bad walk.”

“I can give you a lift,” he offers. “If you’re not in a hurry you can come back to my place for coffee. I live down the other side of the coast.” As he says this he gently rests his hand just above Craig’s knee for a moment.

“Coffee’d be nice,” Craig smiles.

“Where’s your car?” Craig asks Ned as they walk out.

Ned stops for a minute as something occurs to him.

“I don’t have a car. I have a motorbike. Are you okay with that?” He looks genuinely concerned.

“You got a spare helmet?”

Ned nods.

“Well, let’s go.” 

*********************

In London, Luke lies wide awake in bed, staring at the lights from the street reflected on the ceiling in his dark bedroom.

Earlier that night he had dinner with Alex in St Johns Wood. Alex had been in a wonderful mood, gentle, funny, curious, asking Luke all kinds of questions, listening and responding with genuine interest. He had not been this attentive for a while.

They talked about families, growing up, school, Luke’s father, first kisses, work, time alone.

Luke was candid, trusting. He told Alex things about his father, his childhood and his first love that he had never told anyone.

“So where is he now?” Alex asked gently after Luke gave brief details of his first love.

“Brighton, I think,” Luke answered, piling his fork with garlic mash and caramalised onions.

“He’s never contacted you?”

“No. Why would he? I told you what I did, things he said, the things he called me. He never wanted to see me again.”

“A trumped up slut with a nice arse,” Alex repeated. “That’s just nasty, really cruel,” he says sympathetically, drinking in the anguish in Luke’s eyes when he  
hears the epithet again.

“I’d been so cruel to him,” Luke said, a little uncertain now whether he should have discussed these things about Craig.

“You know, I don’t know this man, but I think you’re blaming yourself a little too much for this.” Alex watches Luke reaction to assess how much he can manipulate him.

“I don’t think this Gilmore person had any serious feelings for you,” he continues. “I mean, for someone who declared that he was in love with you, he changed his mind very quickly, didn’t he?” Alex tells him, looking into his eyes kindly.

Luke nods a couple of time, still thinking about the statement even as he seems to agree with it.

“And he hasn’t made any attempt to contact you...well, he can’t have felt that strongly about you, could he? Surely, if he did feel anything substantial for you, even if he was angry with you, he still would have tried to find you again. You see, I believe true love is forgiving. This man does not sound as if he loved you truly.” Alex tells him this gently and privately relishes at the grief he is causing Luke.

Luke pushes the rest of the garlic mash around his plate, taking this in. Apart from the inept counsellor, Luke has never told anybody about Craig before, what happened, the things he said.

He trusts Alex and believes him to be astute and infinitely intelligent.

Alex’d know, Luke thinks, as he lays awake in bed. “This man does not sound as if he loved you truly.” No, thinks Luke, he doesn’t. He remembers lying in Craig’s arms in the gold light, remembers touching Craig’s face as he stared into his eyes so deeply.

It wasn’t real, Luke thinks.

Alex is right, Luke thought as he drifted off into a thin unsatisfying slumber.

*****************

“Anyway, it’s a great place to work. I don’t miss London at all.”

Craig has just finished explaining his role at Central. He and Ned have been sitting on a comfortable leather lounge in Ned’s very nice flat for hours, talking about their jobs, their lives, food, movies, books, London, Brighton, Swansea, Aberdeen, Christmas, holidays, cats, dogs, the best way to test if pasta is cooked al dente.

Every now and then there is a small silence in the conversation. It is nearly two am and well past everyone’s bedtime.

They are very attracted to each other and hindered only by the fact that they  
are both as shy as each other, each not wanting to scare the other off.

In this lull, Ned decides quickly that it’s his place and he should make the first move.

Craig decides that it’s not his place and if Ned doesn’t make a move soon he’d better make his excuses and leave.

To his great relief Ned makes a move and what a lovely move it is too.

He leans over slightly to Craig, who is sitting facing him and touches his face very lightly.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks politely.

“Sure,” Craig answers softly.

His first kiss is faint, the second is a little more definite, slowly tracing the outline of Craig’s mouth with his own. The third is involved, wherein he gently separates Craig’s lips with his tongue and strokes tenderly and then the kisses run into each other, deep, hot, intense.

After a few minutes he stops and holds Craig’s face with one hand, slipping his other hand around the back of his neck, stroking the neck with soft fingers.

Craig is very impressed.

“Make love with me?” Ned asks him quietly, a little shyly but smiling.

Craig melts.

“Sure!” he smiles.

Ned’s innovative and tender approach could not have been in more stark contract to Rupert’s often mechanical and pedestrian itinerary. 

Ned led Craig to his bedroom, made the lights low and started slowly undressing him, letting the fabric of his shirt trail over his skin, loosening his shoes, laying him down across the bed and lightly nipping his navel as he slipped down the zip of his trousers.

When he had Craig naked he quickly slipped off his own clothes, watching Craig the whole time, casting glances down his body, making it clear he was really anticipating this.

After the last piece of clothing was shed he stretched his hand out to Craig and pulled him up into the sitting position. Ned then sat astride him, facing him, arms around his shoulders and kissed him again, more quickly, more urgently, hands sliding own over his arms, slipping in to touch his chest and belly.

“I've wanted to do this since the first moment I saw you,” he whispers to Craig as he lays him down beside him and travels a languid, wet journey with his mouth down Craig’s throat, over his breastbone and abdomen. Craig has nothing left to say, draws his knees up and spreads them as far as he can as he flexes his shoulders and neck, resting his head right back on the soft comfortable bed.

At the moment the hot damp mouth fixes onto his drooling swollen cock Craig cries out softly and closes his eyes and, for the first time in eighteen months, climaxes without a glimpse of Luke.


	3. Four Kinds of Marmalade Ch: 21-30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story written by - Baxter

Four Kinds of Marmalade - by Baxter

Fandom: The Bill  
Pairing: Craig/Luke (and a cast of thousands)  
Rating: R  
Category: appalling language, graphic sex, nerve wracking violence – the whole shebang: don’t try this at home, kids  
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters, am not enjoying any financial compensation for this  
Note: This is a work of fiction. Apart from the characters and the framework of the story (which are not mine and for which I am NOT getting any money), and apart from the names of towns that I found on a map, EVERYTHING else is fabricated. This work of fiction borrows a bit from the original story, and unashamedly glosses over other parts that were uninteresting or that the author failed to comprehend.  
Having said that, the titles of books mentioned are all authentic.  
Timeline: Starts just after Gilmore gets out of hospital, and goes on (and on) for twenty-two months. And then for a couple of extra weeks.

Winner 2003 SO33 Fan Fiction Awards for Best On-Going Serial

Chapter 21  
Into the Fire

So a year after they lay entranced by each other in that awful hotel room, Luke and Craig start to lose sight of each other.

It’s difficult to say whether they actually stop loving each other. Both are consumed with other relationships, each of which turns out to be very troubling in very different ways.

But it’s fair to say that both Craig and Luke, at this stage, have given up entirely on each other. Doomed. He never loved me. I imagined it. He’s moved on.

More fool both of them.

*********************

Craig wakes up in Ned’s bed to the marvelous sensation of someone kissing his throat. 

“Morning,” Ned says gently, already wrapped around him. “Sleep well?”

Craig is still adjusting. He’s rousing from a deep sleep and it’s a long time since he’s woken up to such an active display of affection.

He slowly responds to the hug and moves his face around to kiss Ned.

“I slept very well,” he says sleepily. He can smell that Ned has already showered. He has a rich heathery washed smell to him and the curls at the nape of his neck are damp. Craig thinks he smells and feels lovely.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, last on the right. You can borrow a pair of my jocks, top drawer opposite you. And,” he pauses to kiss Craig again,“You can have whatever what you want for breakfast.”

Craig stretches back slowly, flexing his arms above his head. Ned runs his fingers over the downy brown hair that covers his armpit.

“Anything?” Craig says dreamily, bringing his arm down slowly over Ned’s hand.

Ned has a devilish thought. “You ticklish?”

“No. Definitely not.” And of course he is hoping to be tickled. Ned doesn’t disappoint him.

Craig squirms under him, laughing and trying to escape at the same time.

Ned kisses him while he laughs, his non-tickling hand holding Craig at the back of his neck, the tickling hand resting in the warm vulnerable armpit.

“Tell me what you want for breakfast,” Ned asks him, smiling against his mouth.

“Surprise me,” Craig tells him before kissing him deeply.

**********************

A couple of days later, Gina is standing outside Sun Hill Station in minus two weather, having a cigarette.

“Nice Christmas, PC Ashton?” Luke is back for refs.

“Ma’am. I was here,” he says cordially.

“Oh, so you were. Nice New Years then?”

“Well, I was working ma’am, so I had a quiet one. And you, ma’am?

“Very nice, thank you, PC Ashton. How’s that posh boyfriend of yours?” She smiles nicely at Luke, genuinely interested. 

“He’s fine,” Luke replies politely, non-committal. He wants to be more responsive, to show he appreciates her interest in and acceptance of him but he does not want to talk about Alex.

“So, you’re still an item then?” she presses, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

Luke nods, trying to think of something to say.

“Well, you don’t seem very excited about it,” Gina tells him.

He laughs a little and runs his hand over his head, embarrassed.

“Nice watch!” she says. “Give us a look.” She extends her hand, waiting.

Oh shit, thinks Luke.

He holds his left hand to her, hoping the whippet thin weal on his wrist stays hidden under the heavy white gold band. 

Jesus, thinks Gina. No wonder he lets him tie him up.

“Very nice,” she declares, emphasising both words. “Cadeau d’amour?”

Luke stares at her. Caddo der what now?

“A gift of love? A present from your rich boyfriend?”

He presses his lips together for a brief second and withdraws his hand but not before Gina catches a quick glimpse of the crimson mark on his wrist. It looks a little angrier, a little more defined this time.

“Yeah. Alex gave it to me,” Luke replies.

“My, we are doing well for ourselves, PC Ashton.” She is being personable, trying very hard to make him relax but it isn’t working.

He smiles a little again, wondering what he could say that would excuse him without seeming unfriendly.

“So I take it you’re happy then,” Gina says.

“Sure. Yeah, yes, I’m very happy.” Luke says with little conviction.

“How are you feeling about Kerry?” she asks out of the blue.

Luke shrugs, not quite sure what to tell her, because he actually doesn’t feel anything at all.

“I’m happy for her,” he says after a few seconds. He feels he should add something but nothing comes to mind.

Gina realises she’s not getting anywhere and decides to spare him.

“Good. Go finish your refs.” And he was summarily dismissed.

Not what you’d call ecstatic, Gina thinks after Luke has gone inside. He’s not in love but he doesn’t seem troubled in the relationship. She was going to mention to him that she had seen Craig at New Years and was glad now she hadn’t. She is of two minds, since speaking with Craig, whether she should push Luke and Craig in the same direction. Interfere again.

It’s a hard one, she thinks as she lights another cigarette. They both seem to really miss each other, there’s no doubt how they feel about each other, yet they both seem to be incapable of finding the right time and place to be with each other.

She likes them both, especially Craig, and would like to see them happy.

Maybe I should let them work it out for themselves, she thinks.

She considers the wisdom of challenging fate or the universe.

However, when she speaks with Craig later that week and finds him giddy with infatuation with Ned, she learns, once again, that fate and the universe are a couple of steps ahead of her. 

******************

Not long after New Year, Alex is in New York, visiting a couple of artists, attending a couple of fine arts sales, buying up at a few estate sales. He takes these trips three or four times a year.

“You’re welcome to come if you would like,” he tells Luke graciously as they lie together on Alex’s comfortable bed, a few nights before he leaves. “I often travel with gentlemen friends.”

Luke would love to see New York but can’t take leave with such short notice.

“I’ll bring you back a present,” Alex promises him.

“Kiss me?” Luke asks. He’d trade a kiss for a present any day. He feels emptier and emptier as the relationship progresses and longs for a bit of affection.

Alex sees the yearning in his eyes, delights at how needy the young man is.

“We’ll see,” he says indifferently.

***************************

When he has finished working the Christmas and New Year period, Luke has four days to himself and suddenly finds himself at a bit of loss. He doesn’t actually miss Alex, they are not involved in such way that there is much to miss but he misses being a part of something.

He misses having someone to talk to, someone to call.

After cleaning his flat and taking his washing down to Maria in the laundromat, he decides to go over to Highgate anyway and walk through Waterlow Park again. He made some good decisions there last time. Then I can go down to Camden to that caff, he thinks.

All the way through the rain, on the tube, walking down Archway Road to cross the beautiful Suicide Bridge, Luke marvels how far he has come in a year. A wedding, a break up, my poor lost baby.

He’d be three months old now, my baby.

So many things in one year.

The love of my life who I just tossed away.

So many boys, he thinks. So many hands over me, so many dicks in my mouth. No real connection anywhere.

A trumped up slut with a nice arse, that’s what I am. It still cuts him and he wonders about it closely, thinking that if he takes it apart and examines it, it might not hurt so much anymore.

Nice arse. Anal sex. The one place Luke hasn’t been, the one thing he thinks he can save for the right man. Silly, Luke decides as he turns it over in his mind, that something like virginity could actually mean something. It’s not as though it makes any difference. He thinks of the men he has slept with and wonders if it would have made a difference to them if he told them he hadn’t done it before.

Then he wonders if it would make a difference to him if someone told him they hadn’t done it before.

A bit, he decides.

Maybe I should get someone to break me in, he thinks, pausing to look over North London from the span of the Archway Bridge. Maybe it would be a nice gesture to offer experience and confidence to someone you really loved.

But maybe it would be nicer to let them instill you with experience and confidence.

Luke doesn’t have many yardsticks for this. He’s curious but never had anyone press him for anal sex. His lovers were happy to skip it once he made it clear it wasn’t part of his menu, some never asked.

He wanders up to the fruit shop near the park and buys two apples and two bags of unshelled peanuts.

He wishes he could talk it over with someone. Not really a topic to raise with Gary or Nick or Tony or Polly. Gina, he thinks to himself, smiling, as he sits on his step eating his first apple. She’d have an opinion. Gay blokes, gay blokes. A gay bloke in a relationship. Don’t really know any, thinks Luke.

Well, Alex. But Luke quickly dismisses this. He doesn’t want Alex to know the importance he places and his fears, on this topic. He doesn’t want Alex to be his first.

Internet. Could go looking, if I could find my way through the porn sites. Is there a clinical term I could use in a search engine? 

Where do gay men find out it he wonders? Do we all just stumble through? Have a few bad experiences before we get the hang of it? Is there a book I can buy?

He tears open the first bag of peanuts and offers one to a very insistent squirrel who promptly stuffs it into his mouth and looks for a second one. Luke obliges. Three other squirrels come tearing up the path out of nowhere.

They must have peanut radars, thinks Luke.

Maybe it’s not big deal, he muses as he finds himself surrounded by squirrels, all of whom are making good of Luke’s offerings with their sharp little teeth. It is completely quiet in the park; the sound of cracking shells is almost symphonic.

Maybe if I told Alex he’d take me through it. Maybe I’d really enjoy it. And anyway, if I really love someone and they really love me, they won’t care who I’ve been with. If they do, they don’t really love me.

It never occurs to Luke what a hopeless romantic he is.

Nor does it occur to him, after all his thought about this delicate, intimate topic, why he really seeks to keep himself neat.

But it will in a few months.

************************

Craig’s never had it so good.

Every time he turns around he is fed or kissed or stroked or admired or listened to or hugged or teased or smiled at by an adoring Ned.

They see films, they take walks, they eat great food, they lay on the bed sticky with sexual satisfaction, kissing lazily and talking privately.

Ned cooks, Craig stands and talks with him in the kitchen, watching him, learning and storing the information, occasionally slicing a vegetable or whisking some eggs.

Ned sends him text messages all day.

I miss u so much xxx

cant wait to c u 2nite xxx

cant stop thinking about u hurry up & come home

On the odd occasion Craig goes home to his own flat there are three or four messages from Ned flickering on the phone voice mail. Some are just aimless pieces of catch up, others implore Craig to hurry on over.

These days when he goes home Peggy looks at Craig as if she met him once but now can’t quite remember who he is.

Lilly works overtime making sure Peg is fed and entertained.

Jenny Gilmore leaves messages telling Craig he is being a real girl and to please return her phone calls.

Craig spends most of his time at Ned’s place.

In the first week it is magnificent.

In the second week it is still pretty magnificent.

In the third week it is still fairly magnificent but Craig would like a little time to himself.

In the fourth week the magnificence fades a bit as Craig starts to feel a little smothered by Ned’s relentless inflamed attention.

By late February Craig thinks he will go mental if Ned does not let up. It becomes a cycle of hysterical demands, tearful recriminations, desperate, but later, exasperated, attempts by Craig to soothe him.

“I don’t know what to do,” he tells Jenny late one February night on the phone.

“Get rid of him,” Jenny advises starkly.

“I can’t just get rid of him,” Craig answers. “I really like him. I just want him to slow down a bit.”

“You really do have the worse taste in men,” she says without a hint of sympathy.

************************

“Do you like it?” Alex asks Luke coolly.

Luke is unpacking the contents of a large Gucci carrier bag that Alex has bought back for him from New York.

Even the tissue paper is lovely, thinks Luke. Inside is a black leather coat made from the tender skin of lambs and lined with a dense rippling silk that glows like jet.

It is the most beautiful garment Luke has ever seen.

It cost Alex just over eighteen hundred pounds.

“It is beautiful,” Luke tells him, completely overcome. “It is utterly beautiful. Thank you.”

He leans over to Alex to kiss him but Alex turns his head just slightly so Luke gets his cheek instead. Luke takes his face back a little but something hot lights up inside him and he leans in again.

“Let me kiss you,” he whispers, almost pleading.

His face is so close, his lips soft and keen. Alex stares sideways at him harshly, enjoying the look in Luke’s eyes. So sad, so desperate, thinks Alex, pleased.

“No. Not here. Maybe later, if you’re good.”

“Please,” Luke whispers again, trys to rest his face on he older man’s cheek.

Suddenly Alex grabs a vicious handful of Luke’s flesh near his right hip, hard and cruel.

“I said no, and I meant it,” he hisses. “Stop annoying me with your pathetic behavior.” Luke flinches, trying to step back, astounded and frightened by this act of spite.

In a second Alex restores his composure and moves away from Luke. “I have some work to do. Wait in the bedroom and I might come and see you later.” And he walks out, leaving Luke standing alone in the tasteful sitting room, still holding the beautiful jacket.

Luke does as he’s told. As he undresses to get into the bed, he sees a sprig of broken blood vessels forming a florid stain on his right hip.

************************

In mid March Craig tells Ned he’s had enough, that he cannot carry on in this relationship.

Ned howls, bombards Craig with phone calls, running back and forth between curses and begging requests for reconciliation.

Craig doesn’t know where to begin to sort it out. He can’t even work out when it went from being exactly what he wanted to exactly his worse nightmare.

“I’m at my wits’ end,” he tells Amelia after one particularly bad night, when she enquiries about his drawn, sleep-deprived face.

Two days later Craig gets a phone call from on overworked, underpaid casualty nurse telling him Ned has taken an overdose. Ned had given Craig’s number as his next of kin when asked after they pumped his stomach.

“Are you okay?” Gina is alarmed when Craig calls her that night.

“I’m exhausted,” Craig tells her. He has spent the afternoon with Ned, who is recovering in a large sunny ward in the South wing of the Palace Hospital.

“God, you weren’t kidding when you said he was needy. And I thought he sounded so perfect!”

“Well,” Craig says, slumped on the couch, with Peg curled up close to him, “He was.” He squeezes his eyes shut, tired and sad about so many things.

“What are you going to do?” Gina asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve never driven anyone to suicide before,” he says, half-joking, half horrified at the prospect. “What should I do?”

“It’s hard to say,” Gina says. “How do you feel about him?”

Craig thinks about this. “That’s hard to say too. I mean, I was crazy about him when I first met him, but, you know...,” His voice trails off.

“Tell me.” Gina lights a cigarette. Craig hears her exhale.

“He’s obsessive. I mean, at first the attention was great, but he literally wouldn’t leave me alone. I mean, I couldn’t do anything. He’d call me all day at work and I’m busy, you know, I can’t sit around talking all day. He’d be waiting for me after work, I don’t know, I couldn’t do anything but be with him.”

“Not good,” Gina says between drags.

“Nothing was enough. No matter what I did, how much time I spent with him, it wasn’t enough. It’s as if he wanted me to quit work and just stay with him twenty four hours a day.” Craig runs his hand absently over Peggy’s back and she stretches both her front paws up to his chin.

“What now?”

“I haven’t got the faintest. What would you do?”

“Don’t know. It’s a hard one.” she tells him honestly. 

“Hmmmmmmm. How about you? How’s everything down there?”

“Usual bloody mayhem,” she says shortly. And then she proceeds to detail the current politicking and ineptitude that she works amongst at Sun Hill.

“Aren’t you glad you’re not here?” she says after outlining her ongoing battles with Sergeant Smith.

“Sometimes,” he says wistfully.

 

Chapter 22  
Ends of the Affairs

Scary Jenny is staying with Craig for the Easter weekend. It is a wet and rainy Easter Saturday afternoon and they have interrupted a discussion about Ned to squabble over whether they should walk down to the pier in the rain.

At the moment they are sorting the washing, which is crisp and crinkled from hours on the heater.

“I don’t know, I never see you and I come all this way from London and the best thing you can think to do with me is walk in the bloody rain,” Jenny complains.

“It’s lovely. It’ll do you good. If it meant so much to you to see me, you’d be happy to walk in the rain with me,” Craig says indignantly. “What does Graham have you do when you visit him?”

“He and Kathy make me mind the kids while they go out.”

“Well, see? You have a good time when you stay with me. How is he?”

“Christ, Craig, he’s your brother too. Ring him and ask him,” Jenny snaps.

He takes no notice of her derisive tone. “I can’t. Kathy might answer the phone.”

“Look, don’t try that on me. You go on and on about Kathy not liking you but you know and I know that you’re displacing because you don’t like Kathy.”

He smiles a little because what she says is true. He really doesn’t like his sister-in-law.

“Why on earth do you wear these?” He is holding up a miniscule pair of her panties, the fabric of which measures about three square inches. “It’s not as though they cover anything.”

“They cover my brazillian,” she answers, snatching the tiny garment from his hand. He looks at her uncomprehending.

“You’ll be sorry you asked if I tell you what a Brazillian is,” she warns him.

“What is it?” he asks anyway.

“You don’t need to know,” she decides.

“I’ll ask Amelia,” he snuffs. “She’ll tell me.”

“”Yeah, you do that. Ask one of your female staff. All you need on your perfect record is a sexual harassment complaint,” Jenny sniggers at him. He thinks about this and lets it pass for a few seconds. Jenny waits.

“Why can’t you tell me?” he mock whines after a pause as he folds pillowcases.

“Because I’m your sister and there are things about me which by unspoken law have to remain private. I don’t ask you about your jockstraps.”

“I don’t have any but if I did I’d tell you what they were,” he says sadly.

“I wouldn’t ask,” she tells him. “Anyway, I’m sick of talking about our underwear. You were telling me about Ned and his new boyfriend. What happened?”

Craig pulls a face. “I think I’m the only normal gay man left in England,” he says.

“Well, that’s a pretty sad indictment on the rest of the rest of the boys. Here, fold you own socks,” she orders, shoving a number of mixed socks in his hand. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine! He goes mad, takes an overdose of paracetemol, gets rushed to hospital, I nurse him for a bloody week, terrified that he’s going to die of liver failure or go mad on me again. Then I turn up on my way to work, after a week of pampering, mind, and he’s got a new bloke!” Craig still can’t believe it.

“What? A new partner or just some guy he’s picked up?”

“A new boyfriend. A brand new one. Like that!”

“Where did he get him from? Are there any more?” Jenny laughs.

“What, for you? You trying your luck on my turf now?”

She laughs harder.

“He doesn’t sound very stable.” Jenny decides.

“No. He’s not. Not very stable at all,” Craig agrees. “Pity. He seemed so normal.”

“Where’s the new one from?”

Craig looks at her with bright eyes. “He’s a nurse at the hospital!” And they both laugh out loud.

“Well, that should be a good match. Do you still like him?” she asks when they’ve recovered, looking at a shirt, deciding whether it needs ironing.

“Not like I did. I mean, he’s sweet enough...,”

“When he’s taking the medication,” Jenny quips.

Craig looks at her, trying not to smile. “He’s not exactly what I think I’d like in my life”.

“What do you want in your life?” she asks, shaking out tea towels.

Luke, he thinks. The thought catches him unaware. He hasn’t really thought about him for weeks.

“I don’t know,” he says as if the thought doesn’t interest him. “Now I’m bored. Tell me about your boy,” he asks, changing the subject. “And then we can go for a walk.”

***************************

Alex too, is bored. He is growing bored with Luke.

The constant emotional demands, the pleas for physical affection.

It’s always fun for Alex in the first few months, molding his boys into shape, making them do things they find awkward or frightening, luring them into his debt but never actually giving them anything apart from the trinkets.

Luke has a number of disadvantages, according to Alex. He suffers from what Alex thinks of as relationship syndrome in that he actively seeks an emotionally satisfying relationship. Alex could not be less interested and is growing tired of stringing Luke along on the false impression that he might be prepared to offer one.

Luke is also at the top end of the scale of Alex’s age limit. He likes his boys young, and Luke is nearly twenty six. True, Alex muses, he looks a bit younger, but still. Twenty six. It’s getting on.

And Alex believes Luke, like most of his boys, to be very inferior to his education and his refined tastes. He finds talking to Luke, and in fact most people, tiresome and uninteresting.

Now as they lie in bed on Easter Saturday night, Alex wonders if it might be time to get rid of Luke now. It has, after all, been five months.

Luke, who has a had a long hard week at work, and just spent four hours at Alex’s mercy, is dozing beside him. He wanted to talk to Alex tonight, talk about some things that have been bothering him. Instead he falls asleep before he can muster the courage to speak with him.

Alex watches the young man’s heavy breathing, and decides he couldn’t be bothered getting rid of him yet. May as well hang on to him to something else turns up.

I should do another Portobello stall soon, he thinks.

********************

 

“You really don’t have much luck with men, do you?” Jenny remarks idly over the breakfast table on Easter Sunday morning.

Craig looks up from the paper. Peggy peeks out from his lap. “Well, I’ve never come home to find one wearing my underwear,” he replies deadpan.

Jenny grimaces. “I forgot about him. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“What did you do with the underwear?” He’s genuinely curious.

“I threw it out. Pissed me off no end, it was all La Perla,” she scowls.

“La what?”

“La very expensive. If you’re going to identify yourself as gay you’re going to have to get a better understanding of labels.”

“Too late. Couldn’t be less interested. Did he look good in it?” Craig has asked her this before and is only asking again to annoy her.

“Oh crap. I saw your eyes light up when I gave you that Prada jumper. You’re a closet label queen,” she snorts.

“I love that jumper,” he says sincerely. “But I would have loved it just as much if it came from BHS. So did he look good in your knickers?”

“I’m not telling you, you bloody perv,” she says, buttering more toast and looking amongst the jams on the table. “Why do you need four kinds of marmalade?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me how your boyfriend looked in your underwear,” he smirks at her, egging her on.

“Leave me alone! I don’t torment you about your loopy boyfriends. And Christ knows you had a few.” She is examining the labels on the marmalade jars. “God you are compulsive. Four kinds of the same thing.”

“Excuse me,” he takes on parental tone,“They are all very different. That one is lime, that one is Seville oranges, that one is mandarin and that one is traditional. Four very different marmalade experiences. The trouble with you is that you don’t stop to appreciate the differences in small things.”

“I don’t have time to appreciate the difference in bloody jam. You’ve got too much time on your hands. We really need to get you married.” She smears the mandarin marmalade over her toast.

He sighs. “Good luck,” he says.

“Oh, don’t be such a sad sack. Just because all of your boyfriends have turned out to be loopies, doesn’t mean you won’t find a normal one, one day. You should try going out with straight men. Now that’s something to get depressed about,” she tells him through a mouthful of toast. “Oh, hang on,” she says, starting to laugh and spraying toast crumbs, “I forgot. You have been out with straight men.”

He looks at her with mock distaste and brushes non-existent crumbs from his sweater. He can’t think of any clever retort.

“What happened to PC Ashton? He got divorced, didn’t he?” Jenny dabs some more mandarin marmalade on her toast.

“You see him more than I do,” he says briefly. “And he’s out of the closet now.”

“Oh, that’s right, with his rich sugar daddy. Is that still on?” She is not looking at him when she speaks or she might have changed the subject.

“S’pose. I don’t know. I only hear about him through Gina.” He is looking down at his paper, thinking of Luke with that ugly man.

“I really like the sound of Gina. You should invite us both over for dinner. Or I can invite you both over to dinner at my place. What does she think of Ashton?”

“Don’t know. She seems to like him okay,” he says warily.

Jenny butters more toast and still hasn’t seen the look on his face.

“So what did the letter say? You never told me.”

“Sorry?”

“The letter Ashton gave you. What did it say?”

“He never gave me a letter.” Craig is confused.

“Oh, shit, no, I never gave it to you.”

Craig feels a wash of something hot and cold run through him in every direction.

“What letter? Where is it?”

Jenny thinks for a moment. “I put in the wardrobe at home, I think.”

“What? When?” He is totally confused, not only by the news and the lack of coherent information but his own desperation to get the letter.

“When you were sick. After you were beaten up. What’s the matter? You look really concerned”. 

“Where did you get it?” he asks, trying to sort it out.

“I told you Ashton came around to see me the day after you went home with Dad, when you left London. He bought a package, some books and apparently there’s a letter inside.”

“Apparently? How do you mean?”

 

“When I saw him at in London last Christmas he asked if you got the books or read the letter. What’s the problem? Why are you so het up about this?”

“What did you tell him?” he asks, his eyes intense.

“I just told him that you threw them out. I’d forgotten all about it.” She leans in and sees it straight away. “You still like him, don’t you?” she says quietly.

He doesn’t answer.

***************************

“Will I see you this week?” It is Easter Sunday. Tomorrow Luke starts a ten day stretch of night shifts. He thought maybe he and Alex could have lunch. Luke wants to quiz him on some private matters that have been troubling him for some weeks now. 

“I’m busy,” says Alex casually, reading The Telegraph.

Luke stands at the doorway, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement from his lover before he leaves.

He waits for just over a minute.

Oh, fuck this for a bag of bananas, Luke thinks suddenly.

“Bye,” he says as he walks out. Alex doesn’t answer.

 

Well, that was a simple break up, Luke concludes as he walks down towards Hampstead Heath. Might as well walk down to Camden. I can go to the markets on the way.

And then I could have breakfast at that cafe.

It is clear and cool in the park, but lively nonetheless as it fills with people enjoying the early Spring. So pretty to live here, thinks Luke, it’s wasted on Alex.

Luke walks through the heath, up the steep road towards Waterlow Park, all the time waiting to see how he feels about having broken up with Alex.

Only two things occur to him. The first thing he feels as he walks past Highgate Cemetery is that he would be prefer to be cremated when he dies and the second, as he walks through Waterlow Park, is mild regret that he isn’t carrying any peanuts.

 

Chapter 23  
Getting warmer, warmer

 

“Well?” Craig asks her.

“You’ve got to promise me you won’t get mad,” Jenny urges after she puts the phone down. She’s been speaking with Mum.

“I’m not going to get mad,” he says in his most reasonable voice.

“I know that voice,” she says warily. “You’re already mad.”

“Just tell me,” he says as calmly as he can.

Jenny takes a big breath.

“Yes the parcel is probably still in the wardrobe. No you can’t get it because Mum put the wardrobe into storage with Nana’s stuff before she went away.”

He thinks for a minute and resumes his calm voice. 

“Why did mum put the wardrobe into storage?”

“Because Nana is going to take the wardrobe with her to the retirement village when she comes back. Mum has Nana’s big wardrobe.”

“Where have they stored the wardrobe?” Craig asks, thinking he might scream soon.

“In a storage place. Kilvey Hill.”

“Does mum have a key?”

“Nana has the key.”

Craig raises his eyebrows at her, waiting.

“She’s in Nova Scotia.” Jenny pauses. “On a cruise liner.”

He just looks at her and then starts laughing.

“Oh cheer up,” she says, relieved that he hasn’t lost his temper. “She’ll be back in November.”

He looks at her again, lips twitching.

“Mam sends hugs,” Jenny offers as compensation.

************************

 

“Ma’am,” says Luke nicely as he walks up the ramp on his way to start his shift.

“PC Ashton,” Gina says cheerfully, puffing away. “I haven’t seen you for a while. I trust you’ve been behaving.”

“I’m on nights,” he says.

“Oh, I thought you might have been off.” He’s looking happier, she thinks.

“No, ma’am, just working hard.” He smiles at her and halts a little, wondering if he should stop and talk or get going. He has five minutes before parade and he’s not in uniform yet.

“Glad to hear it. How your posh boyfriend?” she asks casually.

Luke looks her straight in the eye and shrugs confidently. “I’m not knowing,” he says, rather pleased with himself.

She looks surprised. “All over?” she asks.

He nods.

“Everything alright?” she asks with a quick lick of concern.

“I’m fine, Ma’am,” he says honestly.

“Glad to hear it. Now bugger off and get dressed before you’re late.”

“Ma’am,” he answers and leaves her out in the late April sun.

Bit of goss for Sergeant Gilmore, she thinks happily.

***********************

Sergeant Gilmore is hunched over his desk, pen in his mouth, wading through a fourteen page evaluation of the Community Harmony project.

He has read the same page four times and not absorbed any of it.

He cannot get Luke’s letter out of his mind. It has bought Luke back into clear focus for him and for the first time since he left London he is seriously considering calling Luke, just to ask him what was in the letter. 

What to say, he wonders, imaging what it would be like to speak to him. Imaging the joy of talking to him about anything, imaging the sound of his voice.

Meeting up, having a drink. Seeing him again. Seeing his smile.

Craig takes the pen from his mouth and leans over his desk to rest his tired head in his hands.

Sixteen months, he calculates and I’m still like this. I’m still not over him. I’m going to die loving that man, he decides.

And then he starts the wretched report for the fifth time.

**********************

Later in the week, Gina, in a fit of pique, has decided to clear up her desk. There are files everywhere, other lazy people’s paperwork, notes, jottings and countless bound reports and statistics that she never gets close to reading.

It takes her three hours and then her filing cabinets are pristine, reports are stacked on shelves, appearing to have been read and noted. Her pens standing like soldiers in a cup. She is still there at seven pm, up to her third and final drawer, when PC Ashton knocks on her door.

“Ma’am?” he checks before entering.

“PC Ashton. I’m having a clean up. How did you know I’d still be here?”

“Sergeant Smith told me you were. He needs a decision on a prisoner in custody and he wonders if you might come down and see him before you go,” Luke explains.

“What’s the story?” she asks as she tips out the contents of her third drawer on to her now immaculate desk.

“I’m not sure, ma’am, it wasn’t my collar, I think the prisoner is CID’s. Sergeant Smith mentioned that CID are still gathering information about the prisoner.” Luke is looking at the contents of the drawer all over her desk and spies photographs.

Like all Cancerians, Luke loves photographs.

Gina grimaces slightly and starts shuffling through all the junk from the drawer. Luke watches, curious about the photographs.

Gina picks a couple up and smiles.

“Your stag night,” she says, flicking through the snaps.

“Ma’am?” he asks, stepping forward.

“Sure.” She hands him a couple she thinks he will like. He stares at them long and hard. He suddenly remembers the taste and warmth of Craig very clearly and for a moment the longing is unbearable.

“You can keep those if you want,” she says briefly. “Tell Sergeant Smith I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Thank you ma’am,” Luke says quietly, the photos already tucked in his pocket, pulling the door closed as he walks out.

***********************

The following Monday night Craig arrives home to find, amongst his varied and interesting mail, two bills, one bank statement, a post card from nana and a letter from Gina.

Peggy wails at him as he walks through the door.

“Oh keep your fur on,” he tells her. “I’ll feed you in a minute.”

He reads nana’s postcard and curses her silently. Bloody Newfoundland, he thinks.

He tosses the bills on the table. Deal with them later.

There are no surprises in the bank statement.

Gina’s note is short and simple.

‘An early birthday present,’ is all her note says. It is fastened with a paperclip to a photograph that Craig stares at for several minutes. It is nearly seventeen months since he has seen Luke and this surprise viewing makes his heart hot with love.

**********************

 

“Luke, this is Alex, could you please return my calls? This is the third message I’ve left for you. I’m really worried about you.” There’s a pause. “I miss you. Please call me back.”

Luke is lying on the floor on two fat cushions, armed with a plate of toast coated with marmite and an excellent old book called Enjoying Books that he found at Camden. He has finished his ten day shift and is looking forward to the days off.

He is screening calls.

He looks over to the telephone, only slightly interested as Alex speaks.

“Maybe,” Luke says smugly, and returns to the chapter entitled Real People.

***********************

Craig arrives at work the next day to find several leeks and some cards on his neat desk.

He is still standing staring at the vegetables when Ambo comes in behind him, clutching an improbable garland in his right hand.

“Happy Birthday, Sarge,” he says smiling, handing the bouquet of leeks to him.

Craig stares at him incredulously.

“Fleur de Leeks,” Ambo says happily, his eyes sparkling. “Amelia said,” he adds when Craig continues to stare at the leeks.

“What did Amelia say?” Craig asks quietly as he looks at Ambo’s gift.

“Amelia said it was a Welsh tradition,” Ambo tells him earnestly. Craig still stares at the bunch of fresh leeks in Ambo’s hand, noting that they’re wrapped in shiny pink paper and tied with a red bow.

“Amelia said that it’s what we do for your kind on your birthday. We give you leeks. It’s traditional,” Ambo explains, his beautiful goblin face grinning fit to split.

“My kind?” Craig asks nicely.

“Welsh,” Ambo says, still extending the leeks to Craig.

She dies, Craig thinks to himself. He takes the leeks from Ambo graciously.

“Thank you very much. That’s really thoughtful of you,” Craig tells him sincerely. “They’re very beautiful.” 

“I wrapped them myself,” Ambo tells him proudly.

“Well, I wouldn’t have guessed,” Craig tells him. Ambo bristles with pride. How did you get through Hendon without being eaten alive, Craig wonders briefly?

“How old are you, Sarge?” Ambo asks as Craig continues to stare at his leeks.

“Thirty four.”

“Older than me,” Ambo says.

Craig nods. Then he wonders. “How are old you, Ambo?”

Ambo thinks for a minute. “Twenty eight,” he says finally. “No, hang on. Thirty. I keep forgetting. I’ve been so many different ages,” he explains.

Craig nods again, half smiling. “I know what you mean,” he says, although he doesn’t at all. “Could you ask PC Armistead to come and see me as soon as she arrives?” he asks Ambo.

“Certainly,” Ambo drawls. “Well, I’d best go find Pete. Have a nice day, Sarge. See you tonight.” And he turns to leave.

“Tonight?” Craig asks.

Ambo turns back and smiles again at Craig. How can someone so attractive be so unattractive, Craig thinks.

“Didn’t Amelia tell you? The Seabay?” Ambo says lazily.

Craig, still holding his bunch of leeks, shakes his head.

“We’re taking you to dinner to our favourite restaurant that closed down,” Ambo tells him.

“Ahh,” he nods. There’s no point, Craig decides. “That’s lovely. Please tell PC Armistead I’d like to see her.”

Ambo nods back, and then looks at the leeks in Craig’s hand.

“Do you want me to get you a vase, Sarge?” he offers.

Craig searches his face, hunting for some clue that Ambo might be joking. There’s none.

“They’re better if you keep them dry,” Craig tells him.

*********************

Luke starts his day lying on his unmade bed, staring at a photograph. He has already memorised every detail, every tiny fold in the fabric of the shirt, every direction the hair falls in, the sad, brooding eyes.

He has recalled every tactile detail of the man in the photograph. He remembers kissing the thin delicate skin of his throat, holding the long fingers in his own, unbuttoning that shirt to get at the strong chest underneath. Being held against the warm chest, the scent of him.

Although Craig has once more become fresh and clear, it hasn’t renewed any hope for Luke. It has, however, made Craig seem more real and, because it is all he has of Craig, serves Luke as tangible proof that he once was truly loved. While the photo keeps Craig in the past, it seems to Luke that he isn’t as far away as he thought.

For a brief sad moment Luke remembers that he will never see or touch Craig again.

“Don’t,” he says aloud to himself. “Don’t.” You had him once, you can love him as much as you want forever. No one can take that away. It’s a lot more than many people ever get.

He stares at the photo a little longer and then holds it to his cheek, eyes closed.

“Happy Birthday, Sarge,” he says with a wistful half smile.

He then puts the photo back in the cabinet beside his bed, next to its mate. The phone rings but this time it is not Alex. It’s Luke’s mother and she has some sad news.

*********************

“You wanted to see me Sarge?” Amelia is standing at the doorway, her white hair fluffy and bright in the electric light of the corridor.

He stares at her from amongst his leeks, which he has piled up on his desk as neatly as he could.

“What have I ever done to you?” he asks gravely.

She walks over to survey the pile.

“What’s the matter!” She picks up Ambo’s bouquet and looks at the paper.

“That, apparently, is a Fleur du Leek,” he tells her, and starts laughing despite himself.

Amelia looks at him and laughs with him.

“Ambo,” is all Craig tells her, and she laughs harder.

“They all really like you and wanted to do something special for you,” she says by way of explanation when they stopped laughing.

“You think leeks are special?” Craig asks seriously.

“Well, they are to the Welsh,” she answers.

Craig looks exasperated. “No more than roses are to the English!” 

“Poor comparison,” she says shortly. “Actually it was something I had planned for St David’s Day but you were in a very bad Ned space at the time, so I thought I’d hold it over ‘til your birthday.” She absently sniffs at Ambo’s bunch of leeks, and then grimaces at the scent.

Craig laughs again. “Onions,” he tells her.

“Ughh. But we are taking to you dinner,” she remembers.

“Hmm. Ambo says that you’re taking me to your favourite restaurant that closed down.”

Amelia rolls her eyes. “It did close down. The people who ran it all went back to China. But they’ve come back and re-opened.”

“Where?”

“Same place, down near the lanes.” She walks over to his filing cabinet, and takes a few files from the back of the top drawer.

“I have to copy these so you can move on to the next evaluation. I’ll give you the social workers’ reports too. You need to check them off,” she says, official and brisk for a moment.

“Sure. You’ll have to take me through a couple of them. No one in CID is available to explain the interview notes.”

“They never are,” Amelia confirms. “Anyway, you’ll love this restaurant. The food is unbelievable. You ever been to China?”

“No.”

“Then you’ve never eaten food like this. It’s from the Southern provinces. It’s unbelievable.” She looks at him seriously and then something occurs to her.  
“Do you like Chinese food?”

“I like all food,” he says truthfully.

“Then we’ll have a good night. I’ll copy these now, and get you those social worker thingies. See you in a tick. Oh, by the way, Happy Birthday!”

And she strides out, leaving him to his leeks.

Chapter 24  
First times

“I wasn’t aware we had broken up,” Alex says to Luke over lunch in a small restaurant in Highgate.

“Well, we have,” Luke answers as he saws apart his tough steak.

“Do you think it might have been polite to tell me?” Alex asks.

Luke looks up at him. “I didn’t think it would make any difference to you,” he says baldly. “Anyway, I thought you knew.”

Tread carefully, thinks Alex.

“I had no idea. I had no idea you were unhappy, either. I thought we had a good thing.” Alex watches Luke carefully.

Luke thinks about this. “Good that you never speak with me or good that I do whatever you want?” he asks.

“It’s not like that,” Alex says briskly. “What we have is quite different, quite rare. This isn’t some stupid groundless, fleeting romance. It’s a very authentic and intense relationship.”

“You make it sound like romance is a bad thing,” Luke says without thinking.

Alex rushes in quickly. “There’s nothing wrong with romance,” he assures Luke. “I think, however, that there is a lot wrong with some mindless relationship where people never really learn about eachother or themselves. I think a relationship should be challenging, forever breaking boundaries and striving to extend both participants.”

“Well, that’s where we’re different,” Luke replies. “I think it should be about talking and sharing and trusting.”

“It’s the same thing!” Alex tells him earnestly. “You and I spoke all the time. We shared lots of things, lots of very special moments. We shared one another’s bodies and we shared lots of trust.” He looks deeply into Luke’s eyes, his determination barely contained. You’re not getting the last word, he thinks grimly. Nobody walks away from me until I say so.

“It’s not the same thing,” Luke answers.

“Tell me,” Alex challenges.

Luke says nothing as he cuts his food. He isn’t quite sure how it isn’t the same thing. All he knows is that he is lonely and wants a bit of warmth.

“You’re rude to me. You don’t care how I am. You don’t want to know what I’m doing or what I’ve done or what I think,” Luke says, his hurt barely concealed. He remembers sitting in a car with Craig on an obbo, so long ago one cold night, waiting for a flasher on a hill. Craig desperately trying to make conversation with him, asking him about what he’s doing, what he’s done or what he thinks. Luke was dismissive, hateful and the memory now makes him wince inwardly.

“You’re just not interested in me,” Luke says.

Alex considers this and tailors his response appropriately.

“I’m not a garrulous, gushing person,” he tells Luke, who stares at him blankly. “I don’t just gab on for the sake of it,” he clarifies. “I know sometimes that I appear cold or uninterested but that is not my intention. I’m bound up in my work and sometimes I find it hard to let it go and focus on my partner. I apologise to you for that.”

He takes a deep breath and quietly assesses Luke’s reaction.

“I’m always interested in you,” Alex continues. “I find you fascinating. I love knowing what you’re up to and what you think. But it’s a two way street,” he tells Luke, as he leans slightly towards him.

“You have to take the initiative and speak openly to me. You can’t expect me to second-guess you when you want to talk about something. You have to trust my feelings for you and on that basis you must be brave and just talk to me when you have something to say. Just tell me things, just ask me if you need to know something or you want my advice.” Alex looks at him with tenderness, and sees that it’s working. Luke is listening carefully and starts believing him.

“You must trust me. You must trust how much I feel for you,” Alex lies.

And that’s how Luke ended up back in Alex’s bed later that afternoon. This time, just this once, there are no restraints and no discipline. Instead, Alex is tender and attentive, indulging Luke’s every whim, responding to each languid kiss, stroking and petting him all afternoon. Afterwards he props them both up on pillows, cradles Luke up against his chest and encourages him to prattle on until Alex thinks he will screech with boredom.

Finally comfortable and safe, Luke opens up and talks to Alex about the delicate topic that has been on his mind for weeks.

“What? You’ve never tried it?” Alex says, amused.

Luke is embarrassed.

“Well, it’s not exactly my cup of tea, but I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you,” Alex tells him gently. “Trust your own instincts, you’ll know when the time is right,” he smiles.

*********************

It is often assumed that orderly, sensible adults have been reared by orderly sensible parents. However, there are many amongst us who stand testament to the fact that this is not necessarily true.

Craig is one of these people. His mother is a fruitcake.

“Jenny says the storage place is in Kilvey Hill,” he tells his mother on the phone on the first day of summer.

“Do you need a wardrobe?” his mother asks, concerned.

Craig squeezes his eyes shut for a second. “No, I don’t. I want to get something that’s in the wardrobe,” he explains.

“How’d it get in there?” she asks.

“Jenny put in there,” Craig tells her.

“Has she got a key?”

“No, no, she put it in there last year when I came home after I left Sun Hill”. Craig adores his mother, but sometimes…

“Are you better now?”

He smiles despite himself. “You’ve saw me at Christmas. You know I’m better.”

“I don’t like the look of those scars. They could harm your kidneys,” she warns.

“Do you have a number for the storage place?” Craig tries.

His mother thinks for a bit. “No, I don’t believe I do. What’s the parcel? Why do you have to have it straight away?” Craig’s mother is not as vague as she would have him think.

“It’s nothing. It’s just something from a friend. A letter. I need to read it.” He feels strange calling Luke a friend, as it then occurs to him that they were never really friends, not once.

“Can’t you just call The Friend and ask them what’s in the letter?” his mother suggests.

“No.”

“Why on earth not?” his mother wants to know.

Craig squeezes his eyes shut again. “They’re not talking to me anymore,” he says.

“Why? What did you do?” She’s very curious. She often wonders what he gets up to.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Well, they can’t really be your friend, can they? I don’t know why you’d want to bother with them.”

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” he grins.

“A little. Why did your so-called friend put the letter in a parcel?”

“There’s some books in there too.”

“Don’t they think you read enough? They don’t know you very well, do they? Who’s the friend?”

“No- one you know.”

“Sean?”

“No.”

“What happened to him?”

“He got married.” Craig slumps back on the couch, waiting for the inevitable.

“Did he now. I thought he was gay too.”

“He married another man,” Craig tells her.

“Can you do that now?” she says brightly.

“Sort of. And no, I’m not going to.”

“I don’t expect you to. Not that it wouldn’t be lovely. What happened to the nice chef you were seeing? Jenny said he went mad. Did he?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Craig wonders what else Jenny tells their mother.

“You don’t have much luck with men, do you?” She poses this as a serious question.

“No, not often,” he agrees.

“How’s my grandcat?” She asks.

“What?”

“Peggy. She’s my grandcat. If Graham’s boys are my grandchildren, your cat is my grandcat,” she tells him, and Craig can’t actually tell if she is serious.

“She’s fine. She’s asleep in the sun.” Craig thinks for a moment. “You should come and visit her,” he suggests.

“Well, I’d love to but your father. You know what he’s like, how much he hates the English”.

“Come by yourself. Peggy would love to meet you,” he says, smiling.

His mother laughs. “Now you’re just mocking me,” she says cheerfully.

********************

Later in the warm bright evening Craig sits on the ledge of his bay window, nursing a beer and the photograph of Luke. He finds it difficult to make any order of the things he feels when he remembers the young man so clearly. Luke did so much damage to him, hurt more than any person ever could have and still Craig feels as if no one else could even come close to taking his place.

He doesn’t know why. All he knows is that he still misses him.

Having Luke back in his mind has reminded him how lonely he is. Craig wants a bit of action, a bit of contact. He decides to go hunting again when this busy week of early starts is over.

*******************

“You’re working next weekend, aren’t you?” Alex asks Luke when he next calls him.

“Yeah, why?”

“Just putting my diary in order,” he tells him. “And all the following week?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Luke wonders what he’s planning.

“Well, I’ve got lots of things I can do while you’re working. Why don’t I get them all out of the way and we can get together next Friday night then? That way I can give you my undivided attention,” Alex says.

Luke is delighted. “Great!” he says, genuinely thrilled. This is more like it, he thinks. This is what I want.

Alex looks at his diary. He circles the name of a new man he has met the day before at an auction. This saves him the cost of a stall at the Portobello and it makes him very happy.

“Well, my love, I look forward to see you next Friday,” he tells Luke affectionately.

“Yeah,” Luke says with real feeling, “Me too.”

And just like that he walks blindly into Alex’s trap.

*************************

“How old are you, Rob?” Craig asks the young man he has just bought home. He found him down near the pier, sitting on one of the benches on the beachfront amongst the crowds of people enjoying the glorious evening light of the English summer.

Rob is a beautiful young creature. He is tall and creamy with greeny brown eyes and genuine auburn hair that is cut close to his head.

“I’ll be nineteen in a few weeks,” he says nervously.

Craig presses his lips together as he makes coffee. Bit out of the comfort zone, thinks Craig, who didn’t really favour eighteen-year-olds even when he was eighteen himself.

“I thought you were older,” Craig says as he hands him the mug. Rob did look older, sitting on the bench, paying no attention to anything much until Craig walked by and caught his eye. Now, back at the flat, Rob appears very young.

“Are you from around here?” Craig asks him, trying to get him to relax.

“No, Leicester. You?” Rob slurps his hot coffee.

“Wales,” Craig says, looking him over. Very young, he thinks.

“So what are you studying?”

“Politics and philosophy,” Rob says quietly.

“You want to go into politics?” Craig asks, sitting back in his chair.

“Don’t know,” Rob says, not looking up. About the only thing Rob does know for certain is that he wants to go to bed with a man, any man, as soon as possible.

Craig looks at him, and feels a sudden empathy with the shy student.

“First time?” he asks him confidently.

Rob looks up for a minute and nods, a little shamefaced.

Nuts, thinks Craig. He had been hunting for something a little less troublesome.

“We’ve all been there,” he says with kindness.

Rob’s lovely eyes light up.

“Well, can we go there now?” he says eagerly.

*************************

 

“Nervous?” Alex says, as he hitches Luke’s wrists together. Luke is dressed only in a pair of jeans and Alex has Luke kneeling on the bed, back to him, as if he is praying.

Luke nods. It’s part of the game.

He leans over to whisper in Luke’s ear. “Tonight we’re going to try something different,” he says hoarsely.

Luke turns to look at him with wide eyes. “Yeah?”

Alex stops and checks Luke’s wrists are secure. He then clips the restraint to the hook at the top of the bed. “I thought you might be ready for your first time,” Alex says clearly as he starts to unbutton his fine cotton shirt.

Luke freezes.

“No, no, I don’t want to do that,” he says, trying to twist around, panicking.

“Keep still,” Alex warns him as he strips off the rest of his own clothes. He then walks over to Luke and starts patting his arse gently through his jeans.

“Alex, no, I really don’t want to do that. Now yet, not now.” Luke is panicking, his stomach turns to scalding water and he feels a sweat break out across his face and chest.

“Keep still,” Alex says with venom, running his hand down Luke’s damp bare back. He can feel the younger man shaking.

“No, please, I really don’t want to do that. Please, take the cuffs off, we can talk about it, please don’t do this to me!”

Luke pulls down hard at the restraint in a useless attempt to try and wrench it free. His fear mounts as Alex roughly loosens Luke’s jeans, pulls them with his briefs to his mid thighs, effectively immobilising his legs.

“Alex, please, I’m begging you,” Luke says desperately. He’s scrambling for something to say, wracking his brains for the type of negotiation he’d use in a hostage situation. He feels Alex kneel behind him and instinctively he tries to get away.

“Please, Alex, I’m really scared, I don’t want to do this!” his protests are cut short by a sharp jamming pain as Alex forces some fingers into him.

“Does that hurt?” Alex sneers at him. Luke has squashed his eyes shut at the invasive ache and doesn’t answer.

Alex shoves his fingers in a little harder. “I asked you, does that hurt?”

Luke can’t speak, only nods his response, his face streaked with fresh tears.

“Good. It’s supposed to hurt, you know.” The pain stops for a moment and Luke hears the tinny sound of a foil packet being ripped open.

“Now let’s see you get away,” Alex tells him before he moves on to the next part of his assault. “You should have known, Luke, no one gets away from me until I’ve finished with them.”

“Please, no. No!” And that’s all Luke can think to say to him.

“Keep still,” Alex says in a nasty chiding tone. “It’s only going to hurt more if you struggle.”

*********************

Oh, he’s cute, thinks Craig, watching the young man writhe beneath him. Rob lying on his stomach as Craig, on top of him, gently kisses his naked shoulders and neck.

It’s much better than Craig expected. Rob is enthusiastic and curious, all gangly limbs and hot face, heaving, responding wildly to every caress and taste, delighting Craig with his puppy dog wriggliness.

Such smooth skin, Craig thinks as he leaves a track of wet kisses down Rob’s spine, so soft and smooth. He runs both his hands up Rob’s ribcage and listens to the young man gasp and giggle, squirming and flexing under Craig’s lovely tickling touch.

Craig eases his weight back and lets Rob turn around to face him, his long pale throat exposed, the wide expanse of his chest open to Craig, who bows his head to try the flat carmine nipples. 

They always love this, Craig smiles to himself as Rob cries out softly, they never expect it. He remembers Luke moaning against him in the hotel room as Craig searched his chest, his first gasp when he felt Craig’s mouth against him. The memory excites Craig and intensifies the satisfaction he gets from the writhing Rob.

*********************

The pain is unbelievable, some hideous midpoint between flames of fire and scraping pieces of metal, a crowded, slamming sensation, in and out throughout his lower abdomen. Luke has pressed his head so hard against the top of the bed that his forehead will bruise for days; blood mixes in his mouth where he has bitten the inside of his cheek.

The cruel physical pain is matched in Luke’s heart by the utter awareness of what is being taken from him with such hatred and that no one can save him now.

“No,” he says softly to himself through slightly bloody lips, “Please no.” He knows, though, that there is nothing to say no to anymore, it is almost over, that soon he’ll be released and it will all be gone, the one good thing of himself he’d saved will all be gone.

***********************

Craig is exhausted. Rob lies besides him, propped up on his elbow, gazing at him with infatuated eyes.

Craig looks up at him, half smiling, half ready to knock Rob out if he tries to get him going again.

“Go to sleep,” he says with a weary laugh. “You’ve had enough, now go to sleep.”

Rob grins and runs his fingers over Craig’s hair.

“No,” Craig tells him firmly, secretly thrilled that the younger man still wants his attention. “I’m tired and I want to die. You have to go to sleep.”

“Maybe in the morning?” Rob says hopefully

“If I’m still alive in the morning and you’re still here, I’ll think about it,” he says playfully, pulling the hot young body over into his arms before throwing his head back on the pillows, utterly exhausted.

**********************

It’s the strangest thing, Luke thinks as he mechanically fastens his pants. It’s like I’m here and I’m not here.

He has yet to realise that he is in shock.

The aching in his backside and thighs is so bad he wonders if he can walk out.

Alex has taken his own clothes and left the room.

Luke tries to sit on the bed to put his shoes and socks back on but the sudden flash of thorny pain through him makes it impossible. He kneels down on one knee instead, his movements as laboured and strained as an old man.

Watch, thinks Luke. Then he remembers he never wore it today. He can’t remember why.

Alex comes back in dressed, smiling at him.

“Time to go?” he asks pleasantly.

Luke stares at him, bewildered. He can’t even begin to think of something to say. He hasn’t got the strength to hit him. He finds that he can’t even look at him, his shame and humiliation is so great.

He walks past Alex, his only thought making it to the front door.

“Your Sergeant friend was right,” Alex tells him. “A trumped up slut with a nice arse. Goodnight!”

Craig, thinks Luke, that’s my Sergeant friend. But that’s about as much as he can remember of Craig. He switches off and walks out into the lovely warm summer air, wondering where he is going. 

 

Chapter 25  
It’s All About Luke

It’s just after six am on Saturday morning. Luke is sitting in the bath, hot water almost slopping over the rim. He is still and quiet, his arms wrapped around his knees.

He has been soaking for almost two hours. When the water cools down he drains the tub, turns the taps on and sits there as fresh hot water rises around him.

He’s trying to remember getting home.

There’s dim memories of walking with pains up to Hampstead Village, walking through to the old tube station and standing staring at the clock, realising it was only nine o’clock. Standing on the tube, full of Friday night travellers, some going home, some going out, looking at them all, checking to see if they could see the shame oozing from him.

No one noticed at him.

He seemed to be on trains for hours last night. It wasn’t until he got to his own station he realised he didn’t have a ticket. As he approached the guard he felt for his wallet, then remembered he had his warrant card. He held it at the guard, who examined it closely, then looked carefully at Luke’s face. There was a large smudgy mark on his forehead, and tiny scraps of blood dried hard at the left corner of his mouth.

“You okay?” the guard had asked him.

Luke stared, trying to focus on the man who was speaking to him.

“I’ve been raped,” Luke told him with no emotion.

The guard said something to him but Luke just walked away, not listening, not hearing.

When he got home he took his clothes off carefully and folded them in a curious neat pile in one corner of his room.

Then he folded himself up in his bed. It was only ten o ’clock.

I must have slept, thinks Luke as he sits curled up in the hot water. I must have slept.

The next thing he knew it was four sixteen am. His body ached, his mouth and throat were parched. He walked to the kitchen in the dark and drank six glasses of water, one after the other, until his belly distended slightly.

More water, he thought. More.

So he ran a bath, and inched himself in to the hot water. It hurt, it stung, it made tears run down his face. Your Sergeant friend, he thought. Your Sergeant friend.

I could have got a taxi, he thought now, his skin bright and red from the hot water. Why did I get a train?

He shakes a little at the thought of standing amongst all those people. All those people looking away, not noticing how battered he was.

Then he tries to remember what day it is. Friday? Is it Friday? Do I have to go to work, he wonders.

Yesterday was Friday. Today is Saturday. I worked yesterday. I have four days off.

Fours days to sit in the bath, he thinks. He wonders if he will ever want to feel dry again. Every now and then he decides to get out, climb back into bed, but he can’t face the thought of lying in the dry sheets, nothing to hold him in, vulnerable.

He straightens his back up and tries to stretch his arms. A short hot wire of pain shoots through just under his shoulder blade; he thinks perhaps that he must have pulled a muscle as he tried to wrench himself away from that man. He sees himself trying to get away, sees how pathetic and trapped he was. How he walked straight in to be trapped there, savaged and pounded.

Tears stream down his face. It seems too large, too gruesome an event to comprehend in one bland thought. It is so large that Luke is not entirely sure if all of it happened, or only some of it.

The early summer sun starts to beam through the tiny frosted bathroom window. It’s summer, thinks Luke. A sunny summer Saturday. He tries to smile at the thought but his face is immobile, streaked with trails of tears, his nose running. His scoops up handfuls of hot water and washes his face clean, squeezes his nose dry, rubs his wet hands over his closely cropped hair.

The water is gradually growing cold. With some effort Luke leans over to loosen the plug, and watches the water disappear down the drain, taking with it more of the cloudy scarlet stain that has been leaking from him all night.

**********************

At about eight o’clock Luke drains the water for the last time and sits in the empty tub, watching the small bloody trickle mingle with drops of water down to the plug hole.

I should tell someone, he thinks. I’m bleeding.

A few minutes later her stands up and covers himself with a large blue towel. It is dry and scratchy. Luke rubs at himself until his skin squeaks, and then thinks he should fill the tub again.

Coffee. I’ll have some coffee. Then I can have another bath.

His hands shake as he tries to measure the fragrant ground beans into the coffee machine.

He is careful with his cup as he stands wrapped in the towel in his kitchen, sipping the hot drink, holding the large mug in two hands.

When he finishes it he immediately makes another one.

Then he pads quietly back to his bedroom and, still wearing the towel, crawls under his sheets, wrapping them around him like a shroud. He rolls onto his belly, one pillow tucked under his head, other clasped against his chest.

He can still feel the cooling wetness between his buttocks. He is too frightened to check if it is blood.

I should tell someone, he thinks, but no one comes to mind. He can’t think of anyone to tell.

Your Sergeant friend, he thinks again. Then the hot tears rush back to his eyes unexpectedly and he howls his loss into his pillow.

***********************

He wakes up late in the afternoon. His eyes are sticky and dry, his back hurts more, the raw shredded feeling now ripe in his rectum.

He lies there wound up in the sheet, trying to recognise what he is feeling. Not hungry, not tired, not cold. Sore. It hurts.

His muscles have cooled down and they ache when he moves, so he lies there still and frightened for another hour. Occasionally he looks over to the drawn curtain and sees the sunlight outside, as the day goes on without him.

When he finally gets up, he sees a bright swipe of blood across the bed.

I should tell someone, he thinks.

He walks noiselessly over to the chest of drawers and carefully looks for some clothes. Track suit pants, t shirt. The soft clean clothes bring him some comfort, and, when he is dressed, he realises that his bladder is full. His abdomen aches and throbs.

After relieving himself he makes himself another cup of good strong coffee and walks through the dark flat to drink it on his couch. When he sits down he feels the wetness again, so he shifts to such a position that he won’t stain the couch.

I should tell someone, he thinks.

Can’t go down to St. Hughs. They know me there, any one from work could be there. Local doctor – won’t get an appointment for weeks. Rape crisis clinic. Women.

Phone, mobile phone.

He pads off to the bedroom and finds it on his bedside cabinet.

Back on the couch, he idly spools through his address book. No one, not one, until he comes to Olsen, Liz. The FME. She’s always nice to Luke, and once sat with him at refs talking about Medecin Sans Frontiers.

“Liz Olsen,” she says sharply when Luke dials her number.

“It’s Luke Ashton,” he tells her with a fuzzy voice that doesn’t sound right to him. He asks if he might be able to come and see her.

She’s a little bemused by his voice, and uncertain as to what he actually wants.

“Luke, I’m incredibly busy, can’t you go down to St Hughs?”

He thinks for a few seconds.

“I’ve been raped,” he tells her, again with no emotion.

She closes her eyes and puts her face down.

“Give me your address,” she says softly.

******************

“You need to take these four times a day – after food – for eight days. Antibiotics. You know how important that is. Okay?”

He nods at her, not meeting her eyes.

“These are codeine,” she says, handing him a plastic strip of six large white tablets. “They’re strong. They’ll help with the pain, and they’ll help you’ll sleep. One at a time. Okay?”

He nods again.

“I don’t like leaving you here alone,” she says with concern.

“I’m alright,” he smiles weakly. He feels a little better. She was very nice to him.

She thinks for a moment, and then leans over and holds his hand.

“There are good male counsellors you can talk too. You have to talk to someone, even if you don’t want to press charges. I don’t have the numbers here, but I’ll drop them in when I come back on Monday.” That reminded her of something, and she reached into her bag for a pen.

“I want you to take the whole week off work. No, don’t argue, you need time to rest and work out how you’re going to deal with this. Trust me. You’ll be glad you did.” She signed the medical certificate and tore it from the pad.

Luke can’t think of anything to say.

“You’re sure he wore a condom,” Liz asks again.

“Positive,” Luke tells her. “I saw him.” The thought makes his eyes flood with the hot wet salt again.

She pats his hand. “Is there anyone I can call?” she asks, her face creased with concern.

Luke shakes his head. “I might call my mum tomorrow,” he says half-heartedly.

“You rest up,” she says to him, and leaves him alone in the quiet flat.

**********************

When she goes back on Monday morning, she finds him still in the same clothes, a little foggy from the codeine, although the bleeding has almost stopped. He hasn’t spoken to anyone since she saw him on Saturday. She gives him four more codeine tablets, and decides to wait before she prescribes anything else.

“Try and eat something,” she advises. “A bit of fruit, some milk and sandwiches – anything light will make you feel better.”

He smiles at her. He’s not eaten since lunchtime Friday.

“Do you have any food in the house?”

He tries to remember. “I meant to get some groceries on Saturday. I might go out this afternoon,” he answers.

She pats his hand again. “A bit of fresh air won’t hurt you,” she smiles.

******************

Early in the afternoon, Liz Olsen runs into her old friend Gina Gold at St Hugh’s hospital. They have known eachother for fifteen years, and have done one another many critical favours.

“Glad I ran into you,” Liz tells her when they meet. “I was going to call you tonight. You busy now?”

“Hit and run,” Gina says. “Old woman down near the park.”

“Alive?”

“Not for much longer, I don’t think. Why did you want to call me?”

Liz looks away for minute. Breaching patient confidence is no small matter.

“Come down to the intern’s office. It’s empty and we can have a bit of privacy.”

“One of your officers has been raped,” she says plainly when she has shut the door of the broom closet sized office.

Gina looks at her stunned.

“They called me on Saturday afternoon. The attack happened in Friday night.”

Gina looks at her, pressing her for an identity.

“Luke Ashton,” Liz tells her.

Gina stares at her still.

“It was a pretty rough attack. Bad bruises, tears, the lot. He hasn’t been out since he got home on Friday night. I don’t think he’s eaten anything. There’s hardly any food in the house, and he won’t call anyone. He needs some help,” she explains.

*****************

Gina thinks about it on the way back to the office, wondering what to do. Not really that many choices, she decides.

After work she picks up two bags of groceries.

When Luke opens the door she launches straight into it.

“Liz Olsen and I have been friends for fifteen years. Anything she tells me stays with me. I’m here because I’m worried for you and I want to help. I’m coming in now.”

He stands aside and lets her through, following her to the kitchen. She says nothing until she has finished unpacking the groceries.

When she looks at him in the hard electric light, she’s astonished that someone could change so markedly in just a few days.

“We’re having soup and toast,” she tells him, her voice kind and gentle.

He smiles back and nods. He’s very, very glad to see her. 

Chapter 26  
The Road to Coventry

“There has to be another way to include this,” Craig says to Pete as they sort through a series of files outlining assaults where victims have refused to lay charges, or went so far only to drop the charges.

Craig and Pete have been working on this aspect of the project for four days. It is painstaking and tiresome work, but both understand that it is a critical element of the research, and both, in their methodical intelligent ways, are enjoying trying to weave it in to the report.

Pete flicks again through a file he has been holding, and something occurs to him.

“Why don’t we take Ambo’s tack and approach it from the view of what they didn’t ask?” Pete suggests.

Craig nods slowly, thinking.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “You’re right.” Craig still cannot grasp that, of all the officers he has supervised, the vague, imprecise Ambo has the most astute and successful interview technique he has ever encountered.

“Sarge?”

Amelia is standing at the door, concerned and apprehensive.

Craig looks up, and immediately wonders what’s gone wrong. “What’s the matter?”

She tries to speak, but still hasn’t worked out how to tell him.

“What?” Craig asks, more insistent.

“You want me to leave, Amelia? Sarge?” Pete half stands up.

Amelia extends her hand, motioning Pete to stay.

“Someone’s died,” she’s blurts out, and Craig goes milk white.

“Luke.” His first thought comes out aloud, his heart banging in his chest.

Amelia looks at him, confused. Why Luke? She shakes her head.

“No, Ned,” she says sadly, and waits for Craig’s reaction.

Craig’s first reaction, to his private shame, is overwhelming relief that his gorgeous boy is still safe.

********************

“You don’t have to come back to work on Monday,” Gina tells Luke on Friday night. They are sitting in his flat, eating more soup. 

“I’m okay,” he says shortly. “I want to go back.”

“You mightn’t feel like that when you get back,” she says.

“I have to go back sometime. I can’t stay here forever,” he says reasonably, mopping up the minestrone with buttered bread.

She nods. He’s right, she supposes.

“Well, if I let you come back, you must promise me something,” she says sternly.

He looks at her with sad expectant eyes.

“You have to see a counsellor. I’m serious, Luke, you have to talk to someone. I don’t want to be signing your termination papers in six months’ time, and if you don’t try and get some professional help soon that’s exactly what will happen.”

He nods.

“Promise me,” she pushes.

“I promise,” he says softly.

Gina changes her tact to a crisper professional one.

“I’ve had Smiffy roster you in the CAD room for the next two weeks.”

Luke looks up, alarmed.

“Don’t panic. I’ve not told him anything. He thinks you’ve had a bad bout of gastroenteritis. If he says anything to you, come straight to me and I’ll cut his tripes out,” she promises with a smile.

He smiles back, grateful once more for the kindness she’s shown him this last week. He wonders vaguely what would have happened to him had she not shown up.

They sit for a few seconds in silence, the only noise the clink of their spoons in the Luke’s dark ceramic bowls.

“Do you want me to tell Craig?” Gina asks him.

Luke looks her. She knows too much, he thinks. Still, too far gone to deny anything now.

“There’s no point,” he says blankly, and looks down again.

“There’s lots of points,” she counters. She thinks for a moment, trying to worm around this one. “He’d be genuinely concerned, Luke, and he’d want to help you.” She waits to see how this registers, but nothing shows on Luke’s face.

“I speak with him often. We’re good friends,” she tells him. Still nothing. She has one last attempt.

“I think he still carries a bit of a torch for you,” she says gently with slightly raised eyebrows.

For the first time in a week Luke’s face brightens a little, but he still doesn’t look up. It has never occurred to him that Craig might still like him, despite all the ugliness Luke caused him. He thinks about Craig coming to his rescue before, the countless times he tried to help Luke out. The countless times Luke tossed it back in his face.

Luke tries to imagine speaking with Craig now, but cannot even get close. The whole notion is insurmountable.

A trumped up slut with a nice arse. The phrase makes Luke feels sick. He cannot counter the thought of Craig learning that all his predictions have come true. Nor does he want mere pity. Not from Craig.

Luke shakes his head. 

“No. No, don’t tell him. I don’t want him to know.” He looks into his bowl. “I can’t talk to him,” he says finally, and Gina understands what he means.

“Tell me if you change your mind,” she says. After a few seconds she broaches the next item on her agenda.

“You’re good friends with Polly, and she’d be a very useful ally in this”.

Luke shrugs. He likes Polly. She has dinner with him in his flat sometimes and occasionally they see movies together.

“I can give her a few brief details in private. She doesn’t have to know everything, but it will help you to have someone on your side, to look out for you,” Gina advises.

Luke thinks about this. He doesn’t mind Polly knowing. He told her a bit about Alex earlier on. But he doesn’t want to tell her about the assault himself.

“Tell Polly,” he says finally. He looks up at Gina again. “But not Craig,” he repeats.

“Polly good, Craig bad.” Gina smiles at him to assure him. He smiles back, his sad eyes full of gratitude.

“You’ve been so good to me. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you,” he says earnestly, still unable to comprehend Gina’s tremendous generousity.

“You’ve learnt a valuable lesson about women, Ashton,” she says waggishly. He looks at her confused.

“A little bit of cashmere goes a long way,” she teases.

**********************

Craig is lying on his couch looking at a road map of Britain. He is considering travelling to Aberdeen to attend Ned’s funeral. Peg has squashed herself between him and the body of the couch. Every now and then a paw flies out and swats at him from under the map.

“You’re not helping,” he says, a little distracted.

Jenny calls him later that night, and he tells her the sad news.

“You going to go to the funeral?” she asks.

“I don’t know. Aberdeen’s a long way. I haven’t decided.”

“Did you ever meet his family?”

“No. That’s the thing, really. I think it’s a bit disrespectful turning up to a funeral when the only person you know is the deceased.”

Jenny smiles to herself when she hears his cop language. He can’t help himself, she thinks.

“Not necessarily. I don’t think his family would mind. Some people like a crowd at a funeral,” she says.

“S’pose. The nurse might mind, though. I don’t think he ever warmed to me.”

“So he did the same thing again, like he did with you? Another overdose?”

Craig sighs. “Yeah. Apparently he miscalculated the dose, and his liver was pretty shot from the last attempts.”

“Attempts?” Jenny stresses the plural.

“That’s what the doctor told Amelia when she went up to the hospital. He’d done it at least twice before me.” The whole scenario makes Craig very depressed.

“But you’re over him now, yeah?”

“Oh, completely. Have been for ages. I just feel really sorry for him.” Craig remembers their first night together. So sweet, he thinks. So warm.

“Yeah, well it’s pitiful. But you’re not blaming yourself, I hope.”

He’s silent for a moment. “No,” he says finally. “Nothing I could have done differently. It was all him.”

They natter on for a few minutes about instability, and Jenny suddenly remembers something that will cheer her brother up.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you!” she says in the middle of a comment about electro-convulsion therapy.

“You’re having shock therapy too?”

“No, no, Nana’s coming back early! She mixed her dates up – she’s coming back on the first of November, not December!”

The letter, Craig thinks. I can get my letter.

“You want to go down together? It’d be nice to see nana after the trip, and I get to read the letter too!” Jenny drops this in casually, hoping Craig will agree to this critical point without realising.

“Yeah, right.” He’s awake to her. “Sure. You get to read the letter too. It ain’t happening, Guinevere.” And he quickly holds the phone away from his ear as she launches in to the stream of abuse she saves for her brothers whenever they use her real name.

**********************

Luke’s happy to be back at work. He appreciates the mindless routine of the CAD room, and he appreciates the daily diversion of assigning calls around the relief.

Apart from a bit of courteous curiousity about his illness, no one makes much reference to his absence after his first day back. Sergeant Smith hopes that he will get a private opportunity to make a barbed comment about lazy people who fake illnesses to get off work, but he never seems to be able to corner Luke without Gina hovering in the background.

The nights are the hardest on Luke, the minutes before he falls asleep. That’s when the fear comes back, and he remembers in graphic detail the few moments of undiluted terror he knew before Alex tore into him.

For a while, Luke becomes obsessed with the person he was just before the attack, and the person he became after the attack. He goes over and over what he might have done to get away, what he might have been able to manage to save that last private precious piece of himself.

No matter which way he looked at it, it was his fault.

**************************

“How’s Ashton?” Craig asks Gina a week later as they chat late at night. They haven’t spoken for ages, Craig realised, and he called her unexpectedly.

Gina is sitting up in bed in a beautiful hand smocked nightie, drinking straight whisky. A copy of Gone with the Wind is folded open on the quilt. 

“He’s fine,” she says quickly, thinking of something quickly so she can change the subject. 

“And the sugar daddy?” Craig jumps in.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? Is it that long since we spoke? They broke up ages ago.”

Craig’s heart shifts a little. “Really?” he says as casually as possible. “What happened?” He’s smiling broadly.

“Luke got sick of it, I think. Don’t have any useful background information, unfortunately. All I know is that he’s stopped wearing the watch and the marks on his wrists have cleared up.” Gina is glad Craig can’t see her. She does not believe herself to be a very convincing liar in this instance.

“So who’s he seeing?” Craig asks again, completely nonchalant.

“Nobody as far as I know. Want me to put in a good word?”

“I’m just curious,” he says, a tad defensively. Craig is a much worse liar than Gina in any instance. “I just wondered how he was.”

Gina remembers something.

“Did you know his father?”

Craig doesn’t. He can’t remember Luke ever mentioning his father.

“He’s dying. Luke got a call last week,” Gina tells him. “Apparently the old man’s staying up north with Luke’s brother.”

“How’s he dying?” Craig asks, a small slick of concern in voice.

“Cancer of the spine.”

They’re both quiet because they both know that it’s when and not if for Luke’s dad.

“Poor Luke,” Craig says, and he means it. “How’s he doing?”

“Ignoring it. Apparently he hates his dad,” Gina says carefully, not wanting to reveal she was with Luke when his father called and left a message on his machine. 

Gina finds it hard to concentrate on Scarlet’s lumberyard after speaking with Craig. She wonders if she should tell him about Luke’s assault.

“I’ll think about it tomorrow,” she decides, turning off her bedside lamp.

**************************

“I don’t know where to start,” Luke says apprehensively. He has having his first meeting with his counsellor.

Luke was a little nervous about meeting another counsellor after his last disastrous encounter. Happily, that inept young man has moved on and Luke, although he doesn’t know it yet, is in very capable hands. 

“Tell me what happened,” the counsellor suggests. His name is Gary, and he is fifty three. He has a nicely clipped white beard, soft trimmed grey and white hair and clear tanned skin. His eyes are heavy lidded, they’re wise grey eyes. He works at the Gay Men’s Health Clinic, and is an old colleague of Liz Olsen. She has given Gary enough detail to ease Luke into the first difficult session.

Luke squeezes his hands together and looks around the room. Books, posters, racks of pamphlets and random collections of papers distract him. Summer rain hammers against the window outside, and inside a small ineffectual fan is whirring just behind Gary’s desk.

“I can’t,” Luke decides.

“Okay, tell me how you feel.” Gary is patient and gentle as he searches for a loose paling on Luke’s boarded up psyche.

Well, that’s easy, Luke thinks. And he says nothing, just looks down at his shoes and squeezes his hands together more tightly.

“Are you angry?” Gary prompts.

“Angry with myself, yes,” Luke agrees.

“Angry with the man who assaulted you?”

Luke bites his top lip and then his bottom lip.

He nods, his eyes fixed on the bottom shelf of a messy bookcase.

“What would you say to him if you could say anything?”

“Do you do this to everybody?” is Luke’s first reaction. Gary nods, and Luke thinks harder.

“Did you enjoy it?” is Luke’s next reaction. Gary nods again.

“Do you think he enjoyed it?” Gary asks.

Luke shakes his head.

“Tell me,” Gary says.

“I think he planned it.” Luke still doesn’t look at him, but is thinking very hard. “I think he enjoyed hurting me, you know, enjoyed punishing me, and this was his way of punishing me for trying to leave him. You know, me leaving him instead of him leaving me. But I don’t think he enjoyed it sexually.” Luke bites his lips again. His hands have crimson patches on them.

“Where did you meet him?” Gary asks.

Luke remembers the Portobello, the day of Gina’s party. He remembers wondering about Craig turning up. It seems like years ago in another country.

“I met him when I was thinking of Craig,” Luke says without editing the thought first.

Gary smiles, realising he has found the loose paling he was looking for.

Chapter 27  
Travel plans

The small pile of clothes Luke wore the night he was assaulted are still sitting in a small square in the corner of his bedroom.

It is the sixteenth of July, the day after his twenty-sixth birthday. He has been in counselling for three weeks.

He has a new fish. Polly has given him a Siamese fighting fish for his birthday, an odd, docile looking animal that displays surprising savagery when introduced to other fish. Luke has put his solitary fish in his small lounge. He has noted, to his great delight, that if he holds a mirror in front of the fish’s little tank, and the fish catches sight of his own reflection, the fish goes into a murderous rage.

Luke has shown his fish the mirror four times already.

The tears on Luke’s body have healed completely, and he has weaned himself off the scalding baths.

He has started to eat more substantial foods, and he rarely feels tears well in eyes without warning anymore.

He enjoys talking to Gary twice a week. They both feel like they are making good progress.

He won’t return his father’s calls.

He still has difficulty sleeping soundly, and wakes up suddenly, terrified, two, sometimes three times a night.

He can’t counter the thought of sex with anyone. Twice has he tried a bit of cruising down at his favourite pub, twice he came home early, alone, frightened and frustrated. The thought of anyone touching him terrifies him. He wonders how long this will last.

He hasn’t told his mother or anyone else what happened to him.

He has hidden the pictures of Craig. He can’t bear to see them at the moment. He still feels his loss and emptiness very sharply, and Craig is indelibly connected to that for some reason neither Luke nor Gary can decipher at this stage.

Luke stands and stares at the limp clothes on the floor. He thinks for a couple of minutes, and then picks them up to dump them in his wash basket.

Something falls to the floor with a tinny chink and lies there sparkling at Luke’s feet.

The platinum slave bracelet Luke wore around his ankle for Alex. Luke stands and looks at it, the clothes still in his hands.

***********************

“I’m going to take some leave in November,” Craig tells Amelia in mid-August as they pack up the latest collection of used files. The boxes will be sealed and then sent over to the South Western archives.

“You going skiing?” she asks.

He gives her a look of mock distaste.

“I’m going to see my grandmother,” he says a little grandly.

“Oh! Nana Gilmore!” Amelia says playfully. “How lovely.”

“Nana Price,” Craig corrects her. “My mother’s mother”.

“How long will you be with nana?” Amelia asks with a serious face.

“About ten days I think should do it,” Craig says as he presses down a length of packing tape along the top of the box.

“Recreation leave?”

“Accumulated leave,” Craig says happily. He has clocked up a lot of overtime, and has been told by the over-perfumed super that he will lose it if he does not use it by the end of the year.

“Is Nana Price your favourite nana?” Amelia is numbering the box with a fat black marker before she enters its details into her catalogue.

“Nana Price is my living nana,” Craig tells her. He then catches her about to do what he has told her a thousand times not to do. “Don’t lift that box. I’ll move them when we’ve finished.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Oh, all right, nana,” she groans at him.

**************************

“So you never speak to Craig?” Gary asks Luke. He is starting to comprehend that the whole Craig episode has affected Luke as intensely as the assault, albeit in very different ways. He finds it interesting, trying to untangle the assorted cords of Luke’s unhappiness.

“No. Not ever.” Luke does not look up.

“Would you like to?”

Luke shakes his head quite emphatically.

“But you told me you still have very strong feelings for him.”

“I do. But I told you what he said, the things he said when I last saw him. He doesn’t want to speak to me ever again.”

“People say cruel things when they’re hurting. He sounds like he was in a pretty bad way when you last spoke to him.” Gary smiles at Luke, because they both know that Craig was a mess when Luke spoke to him.

“He wouldn’t lie to me though,” Luke said. “ He wouldn’t say things he didn’t mean. He’s just not like that.”

“But you said yourself you don’t really know that much about him. You don’t know how he might react if he feels really hurt.” Gary waits to see how long Luke will talk about Craig. So far the longest he has gone is just over three minutes before he clams up. It seems Luke can only get so far.

“I knew him a bit,” Luke says, looking straight at Gary. “He was very honest. And he put up with so much from me.”

“Did you believe him when he said he loved you?”

Luke nods.

“Do you think he was the type to fall in and out love quickly?”

Luke shakes his head.

“Then, based your own impressions, it’s hardly likely that he’d stop loving you after a couple of weeks, is it?”

“You can still love someone and never want to see or speak with them again,” Luke notes accurately.

“How is your dad?” Gary asks, his small compassionate eyes fixed on Luke.

********************

Craig is scrambling eggs when Gina calls him on the last Monday of August.

“I’m taking some leave,” she announces before he has time to say hello.

“Hello Gina, l’m really well, lovely to hear your voice too,” he says warmly.

“Oh hello and all that. You’re my first port of call,” she tells him.

“When?” he asks, turning down the gas as he checks his eggs.

“This weekend.” She waits.

“Rather brisk notice for an organised poof, don’t you think?” He is smiling when he says this.

“Well, you’re such an organised poof I knew you’d be able to cope. Seriously though, can I come and stay this weekend?”

“Sure. I’m not working.” Then he remembers something. “I am taking Lilly to a flea market though, on Saturday. You can come if you can bear it.”

“Lilly? Your cat’s carer?”

“Uh-uh”. He’s measuring a tiny quantity of cayenne pepper into a tinier spoon.

“I’d love to meet Lilly. I can teach her all the things that I wished I’d known when I was sixteen.”

Craig is quiet for a moment. “I don’t think that would be appropriate,” he says, honestly concerned for Lilly’s welfare.

“Oh, lighten up. You don’t know how hard it is to be a sixteen-year-old girl.”

“True. So why the leave?”

“I’ve got nine weeks stored up. Jack Meadows is having kittens at people hoarding their leave and taking it in huge lumps. He has called on all managers to set an example. Pompous git!” Gina flicks her cigarette lighter to life and Craig hears her exhale deeply.

“So how long are you taking?”

“Three weeks. Long enough for them to appreciate that I really am invaluable.”

“So is it quiet there?” Craig is wondering how he can ask about Luke without it looking obvious.

“No,” she says cheerfully. “The usual mayhem. People having affairs, losing files, knifing their colleagues in the back, charging the wrong people, letting the bad guys go due to lack of evidence – you know how it is.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” He is quiet for a minute. Oh, bugger it, he thinks. She’s seen me in bed with him, for Christ’s sake.

“How’s Ashton?”

She smiles to herself. “He’s okay.”

Craig waits for more details, and presses when none are forthcoming.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing. He’s been a bit unwell. He’s just a bit quiet.” Gina grimaces at her clumsy answer.

“Broken heart?” Craig asks, hatred for the sugar daddy flushing through him once again.

“No, not really. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I see you,” she says. “And don’t push me for more details now, because I’m not going to tell you.” Gina grimaces again.

“Is he alright?” There is genuine concern in his voice.

“He’s fine. Honestly, I don’t know why you just don’t call him and ask him yourself.” God, I wish you’d call him, she thinks.

“Tell me on Saturday,” he says, respectful and kindly. 

*********************

“Did you love Alex?” Gary asks Luke at their next meeting.

“No,” Luke answers quickly and definitely. “Not at all.”

Gary waits.

“I wanted to,” Luke admits, “But he wasn’t very lovable.” He smiles at his own small joke.

“Do you think it would have been better if you loved him?”

“No, God no! It would have been a thousand times worse. He probably would have killed me instead of raping me if I said I loved him,” Luke said intently, staring at the window.

Gary notes that it is the first time Luke has referred to the rape directly.

Then he decides it’s time to come at Luke out of left field.

“Do you love your dad?”

Luke thinks hard about this. “Yeah, s’pose,” he says eventually.

“Did your dad ever beat you?”

Luke laughs bitterly. “Yeah. All the time. I probably deserved it a lot of the time though.”

“How old were you when he left?”

“Eleven.”

“And he beat you right up until then?”

Luke nods, unconcerned, as if it is no big deal.

“You’ve been a policeman for a while, haven’t you?”

Luke nods. “All in all, about four years.”

“In your time, as a policeman, how many children have you seen who have been beaten?”

Luke thinks. “Dozens. No, more. Scores. More than a hundred.”

“How many deserved it?” Gary asks, and waits.

Luke sits silent, squeezing his hands together.

“Did you love Alex?”

Luke looks confused. “I’ve already said no.”

“You let him punish you though. Do you love your dad?”

Luke is a bit confused. “Probably, I s’pose.”

“And you excuse him punishing you. Do you love Craig?”

Luke looks down and squeezes his hands tighter. “Yes. Yes I do,” he says softly.

“And it appears that he loved you, and tried to show you many times.” Gary waits to see when the penny drops.

Luke nods, and looks up again at the nice eyes.

“But it wasn’t enough, was it?” Gary suggests.

Luke looks at him, not getting it.

“So you pushed him and pushed him until he punished you. Then you became confused when he wouldn’t continue a relationship with you.” Gary pauses, and waits a bit longer.

“Conditional love. Some people are reared with the idea that they can only be loved on condition. Sometimes they win their parents love when they achieve academic success, sometimes they win their love when they’re petulant or if they’re quiet. These kinds of behaviours become ingrained, and they start to reproduce them in all their relationships.” Gary can see it’s sinking in.

“You believe that, in order to have a functional relationship – a relationship in which you are loved - that you must let the person punish you.” Gary pauses and rubs his eyes lightly. “It’s really very simple when you think about it.” He smiles at Luke, who is still a few steps behind.

“So it’s my fault?” Luke asks him.

“No. It isn’t anybody’s fault, because no one has recognised the pattern. It’s not your fault that your father was violent, or that Alex appears to have a streak of sociopathy. It’s not even your fault that you sought them out. You only sought Alex out because you were used to the kind of relationship he offered. You haven’t been taught to expect anything else.” 

Gary sees Luke is listening intently, so he gives him some more clues.

“This is why it confused you to fall so deeply in love with a person who loved you unconditionally.”

Gary pauses to check how close the penny is.

“ Do you like Marmite?” he asks Luke.

Luke laughs, really confused now. “Yeah, I do. On toast.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, I’ve always had it, ever since I was a little kid.” He stops, and smiles.

The penny drops.

*****************************

 

 

It’s been a long day.

Craig is flopped on the sofa with a beer and a slight headache. Gina is flopped on the lounge seat opposite him with a whisky and a cigarette. Peggy is sitting pertly on the floor, yet to decide whom she will flop on.

“My God I feel old,” Gina tells him.

They have spent the last day of summer down the coast in a huge flea market in a tiny town called Aldwick. Lilly, they have calculated, spoke for fifty eight minutes of every hour.

“She really is a lovely girl," Gina sighs. “I’ve just never met someone – anyone – who talks all the time.”

“She never stops,” Craig agrees.

“It’s not just that she never stops. She’s so damned enthusiastic. I thought teenagers were supposed to be moody and silent. I thought they took a vow of silence amongst adults until they were eighteen.” She takes a sip of her drink.

“Where did you learn to curtsey?” Craig asks her. Craig had caught Gina earlier that morning teaching Lilly to curtsey properly in his kitchen. Well, Lilly asked.

“I went to a convent school. The nuns made everybody learn to curtsey on the off-chance we married into royalty.”

“You can’t marry into royalty if you’re a Mick,” Craig notes rightly. He holds the sweaty can against the faint stain of sunburn on his face.

“Oh, the nuns made exceptions for proddyhoppers if they were royal,” Gina says. “I think there was some expectation that you’d convert them if you caught one. Brideshead Revisited and all that. You a Mick?”

“That’s one of my all time favourite books.” He smiles and takes a mouthful of cold beer. “Half Mick, half Methodist. As far as I’m concerned they cancel each other out.” He tastes his beer again. “Makes no difference – according to both I’m going to hell.”

“Well, poofs do, I believe. So do adulterers and murderers and pagans. So I suppose I’ll see you there.” She takes a comforting drag on her cigarette. 

“I’ll save you a seat.” He shifts a little, and looks at her directly. He’s waited patiently all day.

I hope I’m doing the right thing, she thinks again.

“Tell me about Luke,” Craig asks.

Gina has thought long and hard about this all week. She has concluded that he should know, and looks at him with intensity.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “Craig, I’m telling you this because I trust you.”  
He immediately looks alarmed, and she says nothing to allay his fears.

“You have to promise me on your life that you never tell another soul, and that you’ll never tell Luke I told you.”

Craig is worried, “What?”

“I’m not telling you until you promise,” she says seriously.

He takes a deep breath. “I promise on my life not to tell a soul what you’re about to tell me.”

“And?”

He thinks for a minute, then remembers. “And I promise, in the unlikely event that I ever speak to Luke again, I won’t tell him either.” Clearly promises are big deals to Micks, Craig decides.

“Okay. Well, I’m telling you as much as I know, and I don’t know the full details. I know mostly what Liz Olsen told me. Do you know Liz?”

“FME? Yeah, I knew her. Really nice. How did she know?” He adds it up, and then his eyes become angry. “Did that rich bastard hurt him?”

Gina nods, and hesitates for a moment. This is going to be more difficult than she had reckoned.

Craig is sitting up now, leaning forward. “What happened? Did he beat him up? What?”

“He raped him.”

Craig doesn’t seem to comprehend.

“Full on sexual assault. Liz had to stitch him up. Superficial tears, but a couple of them.”

He sits there frozen, his eyes downcast. His rage is palpable; Gina can feel it from where she sits.

He says nothing for almost a minute.

My gorgeous boy.

“Do you want me to tell you everything?” Gina asks, although she is wondering now if she should.

“This bastard actually raped him? Like, I mean…,” he falters for a minute, incredulous, “It wasn’t a badly planned, you know, miscalculated…? I mean…,”

Gina shakes her head, sparing him nothing. “Luke had told him earlier that he’d never tried, you know, never had penetrative sex before. Alex handcuffed him to the bed before he did it.” She stops for a minute. “Liz said most of the damage was done because Luke was struggling to get away.” She stubs out her cigarette.

“There was nothing accidental or experimental about it,” she says flatly. “It was a deliberate act of violence.”

“Has he pressed charges?” The tendons in Craig’s neck are so tense they seem swollen.

Gina shakes her head. Before Craig can protest, she clarifies the situation. “He’s been letting this creep tie him up for six months. Luke’s accepted thousands of pounds worth of gifts from him. Outside of that, Luke’s sex life before Alex could only be described as promiscuous.” 

Craig is reeling. “He should press charges, he’s a police officer for God’s sake, he knows…,”

“Exactly,” Gina says firmly. “How do you think it will stand up in court? More to the point, how do you think the rest of the relief would respond?”

Craig says nothing.

“In any case,” she continues, “He can barely talk about it. He can’t say the man’s name. He’s very frail emotionally.”

Craig simply can’t comprehend it. He keeps his eyes shut. “Did he use a condom?”

Gina looks down. “Yes.” She sucks her bottom her lip and shakes her head slightly. “No lube.”

Craig puts his head in hands. “He could have killed him,” he almost howls. Gina thinks she has never seen a man so distressed before in her life. “He would have been in agony, he’d hardly…the bastard, how could…," he stops, his voice giving way on him, then he slumps back on the couch.

Craig has long lost count of the times he has read murder charges to people. Loss of control, premeditated, crimes of passion – he has never understood how someone could entertain such rage or hatred that they would actually take another’s life. Now, as he sits opposite Gina on the last night of summer he comprehends perfectly how you could kill another person without a second’s remorse. 

She lights another cigarette, and gives him a few minutes.

“How is he now?” he asks finally.

“Not so bad, considering,” and then she fills in all the details.

***********************

Gina falls asleep almost the moment her head touches her pillow that night, but Craig lies awake for hours.

He tries to get comfortable on his back with his hands folded behind his head but he keeps turning onto his side, curling up to his pillow, wishing he could hold Luke.

I should have been with him, he thinks. I should have called him a few weeks ago when I first wanted to. I could have helped him; I could have looked after him.

Craig can barely contain any thoughts about the actual assault. The idea of someone hurting Luke so viciously makes him burn all over, and he shakes with heartbroken fury when he thinks of Luke trying to get away, hurting himself more as he tried to escape. 

He thinks long and hard about the rich bastard. Highgate, Jenny had told him. Couldn’t be that difficult to find. What to do, what to say to the swine. But the thoughts of the rapist are secondary – it is the victim who has overtaken Craig once more. 

He rolls over on his back again, wedging his hands in behind his head.

His feelings for Luke start to change at this point. He no longer sees him as the young man who looked at him a little shyly in a hotel room, plying him with hot inexperienced kisses, the young man who could hardly control his excitement.

Craig starts to see him as older, wounded, someone more complex. My gorgeous boy, he thinks, I miss you so badly. Tears course down the side of his face and pool around the base of his neck as he tries to assess what it is he is feeling, why his heart feels so overloaded.

More, thinks Craig, staring into the dark while the incoming tide whispers in the background. More, so much more. I love you more now.

 

And oddly enough, eighty miles away Luke lies in bed at exactly the same time, also with his hands behind his head, thinking about unconditional love. Someone who loves you without barriers. Loving someone regardless of who they are, what they do. Craig loved me like that, he thinks sadly.

Not anymore, thinks Luke, who now believes he is too far gone and too far damaged to warrant any kind of love, let alone unconditional.

Chapter 28  
Starting the journey

On a clear bright morning in mid September Jenny Gilmore is walking through the stables at the Camden Market, looking for a nice gift for one of her favourite girlfriends.

She stops at one of the stalls when she spies a glass case of twinkling deco paste jewellery.

Bracelets, she thinks. Diamante bracelets would be perfect.

There is a young man standing behind her. He is perusing Bartholomew’s Road Atlas of Great Britain (1956) and has noted with pleasure that the previous owner has not only inscribed her name on the inside cover in fountain pen, but has used the same pen to map the journeys she has taken.

Jenny is just about to buy three of the bracelets when her eye is caught by a beautiful beaded French handbag hanging just a few inches from where the young man stands.

She bumps him slightly when she reaches out to get a better look at the bag.

“Sorry”, he says softly, moving a few inches away from her while he stares at Map fourteen.

“Hello,” Jenny says.

Luke looks at her, and fear creeps all over his skin.

“Hello,” he replies. Oh Christ. His sister.

“How have you been?” she asks nicely.

Fear mingles with confusion. Luke’s panic rises.

“I’m good,” he says. He wants to get away from her as quickly as possible.

“You look well,” she says pleasantly. Actually, you don’t, Jenny thinks.

He nods at her, trying to smile. Be calm, he tells himself. It’s nothing. Just be calm. She loathes you and won’t want to talk to you.

He’s wrong, poor Luke. Jenny stills feels awful for failing to give Craig the letter that seems so important to him, and she feels differently towards Luke now that she knows how Craig feels. She hasn’t forgiven him, mind, but she is prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I’m just going,” he tells her to save any unpleasantness.

She looks at him, surprised that he seems so nervous. He never used to be scared of me, she thinks.

“How’s work?” she says, hoping she might be able to engage him in a little bit of banter that she can then report to Craig.

Luke starts to feel ill. The irrational fears rise and knot together in his chest.

“Fine. Sorry, I’ll get out of your way,” he says quickly. He can hardly look her. So much like him.

He puts down his book and she notices his hands are shaking.

“Are you okay?” She asks this in exactly the same tone Craig would have, and Luke feels the unpredictable tears bite in his eyes.

“Bye,” is the most polite thing he can offer, and he walks out quickly. He rushes outside and, through his tears, is relieved to see the sign for the men’s toilets.

He makes it just in time to vomit abundantly into the sink.

***********************

“He was really strange,” Jenny tells Craig on the phone that afternoon.

Craig is at work, sorting through more files.

“How did he look?” he asks sadly.

“Oh, I don’t know, really young. Really scared. Like he thought I was going to hurt him. It made me feel weird. What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know,” Craig lied. “Did he say much to you?”

“Hardly said anything. He just kept trying to get away from me, like he thought he was imposing on me. I felt - well, it was like he thought I had more right to be there than he did. That he was obliged to leave so I wouldn’t be put out by his presence. It was weird. Is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” Craig lied again. “Was he dressed okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, did he look tidy? Has he let himself go?”

“No, nothing like that, he looked really neat, not like a junkie if that’s what you’re thinking. No, his clothes were clean, he was washed. He could have done with a shave, but it kind of suited him in a way.”

Craig smiled. He’d never seen Luke needing a shave.

“He looked really young,” Jenny continued. “I mean, he looks young for his age anyway, but he looked a lot younger than last time I saw him. It was sad, actually.”

“How?” Craig’s heart felt heavy.

“Well, he was looking at this old book of maps, he looked liked he was really interested in it, and he just put it down to get away from me. His hands were shaking,” Jenny said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

Craig closes his eyes. Oh God, darling, I wish you’d call me.

Jenny can hear him breathing on the other end of the line and decides she’s indulged him long enough. Time to snap him out of it.

“Anyway, we need to start arguing about how we’re going to get home in November. Have you put in for your leave?”

He snaps out of it.

“Yes I’ve had my leave approved and no way are you driving,” he tells her firmly.

*********************

Craig is packing up his files before heading home later that night.

He looks over to the phone.

Can’t do it, he thinks, can’t do it. No point. He’d call me if he really wanted to speak to me. He knows where I am, he would have called if he really wanted to speak with me.

**********************

“I threw up,” Luke tells Gary at their next session. “I was so scared when I saw her I threw up.”

“Panic attacks,” Gary says calmly. “How are you sleeping?”

“About the same,” Luke answers.

“Still waking up a couple of times every night?”

The young man nods.

“It’s the same thing,” Gary assures him. “You’ve suffered a very big physical and emotional attack. You know how your body went into shock? Your mind and emotions are still in shock. It takes them a lot longer to get over it.”

Luke considers this. Makes sense, he decides. “How long?”

“Well, it depends on what is at the root of your panic. In most cases like yours, the panic is rooted in your fear of being attacked again, and possibly that your safety was violated in the first place.” Gary stops for a moment, thinking as he looks directly at Luke. “ You seem to have combined your fear with Craig for some reason.”

Luke mulls this over.

“I don’t think I’m scared of Craig,” Luke says.

“I think you’re very scared of Craig,” Gary smiles. “In fact, I’ve think you’ve been terrified of him since you first met him.”

“Well, he’s a tough boss…,” Luke trails off, remembering Craig’s intractable form of discipline.

“Tell me about him,” Gary says warmly.

“Like what?”

“Everything. Tell me everything you know about Craig.”

Luke smiles. “I don’t much that much,” he says, gentle at the thought of Sergeant Gilmore. He thinks for a minute.

“He’s fair,” Luke starts. “He was always fair. Not friendly, he didn’t really make friends with any of us, but he treated every one the same.” He stops and licks his dry lips. “Honest. Very honest. He doesn’t play games, he tells you up front what he thinks. He worked really hard, really long hours. Never took a lunch break, never sat with us at lunch.”

“What else?” Gary asked.

“Never laughed much at work. I didn’t think he had much of a sense of a humour when I first met him. He actually has, he just doesn’t share it much. You have to get to know him to get him to loosen up.”

“Did he loosen up with you?”

“No, not really. He’d talk to me sometimes, though. He told me a bit about his family, a bit about Swansea.”

“How was he when he learnt you were getting married?”

“Hard to tell. He didn’t say much. I mean, he was really nice to us, wished us well, but it wasn’t until we’d spent the night together that he actually told me how he felt.” For a second Luke can see Craig’s anguish as he walks out of the hotel room.

Gary tries the question a different way. “How do you think he felt about your relationship with Kerry?”

“It must have really hurt him,” Luke admits now. “It must have been awful for him.” Luke hangs his head, overwhelmed by regret.

“How did you feel about him at the time? When you were seeing Kerry?”

“Like I told you before, I really loved him. I just, I don’t know, I didn’t know he felt so strongly. I knew he must have liked me. I didn’t realise how much until it was too late.” 

“What would you say to him if you saw him now?”

Luke jams his eyes shut. “I can’t! I don’t know. I couldn’t say anything.”

Gary presses him. “Open your eyes Luke, look at me, tell me what you think you’d like to say to Craig.”

Luke looks up, but not at Gary. Instead he stares over at the window, his eyes fiery with concentration.

“Sorry. How sorry I am for what I did. How much I wish I could undo it. Sorry, that I’m really sorry, that I wish I’d never met him and fucked his life up the way I did.  
That he didn’t deserve it, that he should never have wasted his love on someone like me. Just – just – how sorry I am for what I did.” Luke continues to stare fixedly at the window. Tears are streaming down his face.

“I just can’t say enough – I mean,” he gulps a little, “There just aren’t any words to say to him that could make up for what I’ve done or tell him how I really feel about him.”

“Does it feel worse now, after the attack? Do you feel like you have to apologise more?”

Luke nods. “Yeah, yeah it does.”

“Why?” Gary can see now they are on the home stretch.

“I’ve got nothing left to give him,” Luke says, much to his own amazement. He thinks, and then understands. “I saved myself for him,” Luke realises. “I thought he’d come back or I’d see him again someday, and even if he didn’t still love me I’d still have something to give him, something that meant something.”

The realisation makes the tears hotter and faster. Gary hands him a box of tissues, and Luke makes ample use of them.

When he’s wiped his face and calmed down a little, Luke sinks back in his chair and shrugs.

“I wanted him to know I wasn’t really a trumped up slut with a nice arse. I wanted him to think I was special.” He’s scraping now, emotionally spent, physically exhausted.

Gary leans over and pats his hand. He really feels for him.

“No wonder you’re so frightened of him,” he says with genuine warmth and empathy.  
**********************

 

A few nights later Craig comes home to more interesting mail.

There’s a postcard that features a fine photograph of the Derby Town Hall. On the back it reads

Glad you’re not here. You’d hate it. G xxx

Craig laughs.

There are three bills, some brochure from a consultancy firm that Craig tosses in the bin, and a long flat parcel from his sister.

It is a copy of Bartholomew’s Road Atlas of Great Britain (1956). Inside is a note from Jenny.

This is the book your darling was reading at Camden before I scared him away. Thought you might like to sneak down to London and give it to him (with my apologies, of course).

No way are you driving us home, you narc.

He smiles, and studies the cover of the book. Odd thing for Luke to be interested in, he thinks.

The things I don’t know about him, Craig sighs as he tosses a fillet of bream over a medium heat. Camden markets, atlases, his flat. He just gets further and further away from me and I still feel the same about him.

He reads the atlas cover to cover with his dinner. For the record, it’s worth noting that Craig was as interested in the previous owner’s inked-in journeys as Luke.

And that’s pretty much all that happens in September. October’s pretty quiet too, apart from Luke’s outburst that becomes one of Sun Hill’s most celebrated stories, and then it really heats up in November.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Chapter 29  
Checking the map

Luke’s father has called him four times and left four messages on his answering machine.

It is the evening of October fifteenth. Luke is sitting in his lounge with a map of the UK and a copy of the Lonely Planet for Scotland. He has downloaded a fair quantity of information from the internet.

He has decided there’s not much point in hanging around London anymore. He wants to move, pack his fish and books and china, go somewhere strange and start all over again. Build his heart back up, and maybe try something different. Move on from Craig once and for all. Maybe study something.

Luke thinks he might enjoy studying. Social work, perhaps. It’s not something he’s ready to discuss with anyone yet; he’s not entirely confident he could even apply, let alone actually do it. Irrespective of his fears, it a pleasant, hopeful idea at the moment.

Although he is not paying close attention, Luke is changing many things about himself at the moment.

He’s saving money, squirreling away what he can to start a new life.

He’s a little quieter, and thinks things through a little more thoroughly when people speak to him.

He has a clearer of understanding of what is truly great and what is truly terrible.

He is trying to get a clearer understanding of where he finishes, and where the rest of the world begins.

He has a tiny warping throb in his left nipple, the result of the dull silver ring he had pierced through it two days ago.

He loves his nipple ring. He loved the miniscule vicious stab he felt when the ring slipped through, and he loved the tiny bright wisp of blood that the eweler inadvertently left smudged on his chest after she withdrew the needle.

He loves the subtle gleam he catches in the mirror when he brushes his teeth before he goes to bed.

He loves that he has marked the boundary of his body in such a private way. Nobody will ever know about it unless he chooses to share it.

Luke feels like he has got something back.  
**************************

Sergeant Dale Smith has been to a party up near Reading. By the kind of coincidence that is too strange for fiction, he ran into Kerry Parker (as she now calls herself) at the party and they shared gleeful disparaging gossip for a couple of hours.

Smiffy is beside himself, champing at the bit to spread his venomous gossip far and wide. He can’t wait to see Luke.

***********************

 

“I get Peggy to myself for ten whole days! I can make as many as biscuits as I want! You’ll have to send me a postcard! I’m passionate about Wales! You should take Gina! She’s so cool!”

Lilly has agreed, once more, to care for Craig’s indolent cat while he is visiting his family.

“I’m leaving on the first of November. I’ll give you the keys before I go,” he says to her over the table as they share a cup of tea.

“I think its so exciting that you are going with Jenny! She can take you shopping! They must have some good shops in Wales! Charity shops! Welsh tweed! You can get Welsh tweed! It comes in the most fantastic colours!” Her eyes are bright, and, Craig notices, match almost perfectly with the two blue-green curls she has currently highlighted in her hair.

“Welsh tweed,” he repeats.

“You must have seen it! They make it from Welsh sheep! It’s the most fabulous colours! They never match! It’s really garish! Do your family have sheep?!”

Craig feels as if he is caught in a storm of soap bubbles.

“No, we don’t have sheep,” he says, but thought makes him laugh gently anyway.

“Is Jenny coming here?! Will I see her before you go?! I love Jenny! She’s such good fun! I never knew anybody who wore real Prada before I met her! Does she know how to curtsey! I could teach her! I’ll make you some car biscuits!”

Car biscuits. “That’d be nice,” Craig agrees.

Lilly smiles at him for a moment, assessing her chances.

“What?” He looks at her benevolently, sensing she wants to ask something.

She beams at him, jigging in her seat a little. Her earrings make a pleasant miniscule chiming sound. She giggles a touch before she starts again.

“Well, there’s another flea market down at Aldwick just after you come back! We had such a good time at the last one! It’s a nice drive! I could make some more car biscuits!” She bites her pretty little mouth excitedly.

Reasonable request, thinks Craig. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll take you.”

Lilly squeals and jumps up from her seat, instilling Craig with the fear of God that she will throw her arms around him and kiss him, which she has done before on a couple of awkward occasions.

But like all good artists, Lilly is full of surprises and instead drops low into a deep, graceful curtsey before him.

“You’re as mad as a cut snake,” he tells her appreciatively.

****************************

It is Halloween. The day shift relief is about to knock off, and are standing, PCs and WPCs alike, in a growing group in the corridor, discussing the relative merits of a drink together down at the pub.

“It’ll be full of loonies in ghost suits,” Tony says contemptuously, looking discreetly over to Polly to see whether she’ll be going or not.

“It’ll be great!” Gary says. “We can’t not do nothin’ for Halloween!”

Nick rolls his eyes. “We deal with loonies all year round,” he says wearily. “We shouldn’t have to deal with them out of work too. Can’t we go somewhere quieter?”

“I love Halloween,” Gemma says. “I’m in if you’re all in.”

“Me too,” Polly agrees. “Luke?”

Luke shrugs. “I like loonies,” he says simply. “I’ll go if you go.”

“I’ll go,” Tony decides.

June Ackland is trying to get around the gathered throng.

“Coming down the pub, Sarge?” Polly asks. “We’re going for a Halloween drink.”

June raises her eyebrows as she considers the invitation. It’s been another hard day. It is fair to say that she never actually has easy ones. She feels like a bit of raucous company. “Yeah!” she says. “Great idea!”

June looks around for Jim, who is sauntering up the corridor behind her. Jim has just walked past Gina and Jack Meadows who are talking in low voices just around the corner. He strained to catch the tenet of their conversation, and is still concentrating when his invitation is issued.

“Fancy a Halloween lemonade, Jim?” Gary calls out to him. “We’re going to raise the dead down at the pub.”

Carver smiles and nods. “Love to,” he says graciously as he approaches the increasing crowd. 

Luke sees Sergeant Smith walking towards the group from the other end of the corridor. Smiffy has been waiting like a trapdoor spider for Luke for days, and cannot believe his luck in catching him in such perfect circumstances.

Luke smiles pleasantly as Smiffy approaches.

“Sarge? We’re all off to the pub, want to join us?”

Smiffy’s mean little fowl-like eyes glitter.

“You thinking of making a pass at me, too, Ashton?” he sneers.

There’s silence. Gina and Jack, out of sight around the corner, stop their whispering.

“Sarge?” Luke tries to fathom what he means.

“Well, that’s what you did with your last Sergeant, isn’t it? At least that’s what you’re ex-wife told me.” Smiffy sniggers involuntarily as he sees the colour in Luke’s cheeks drain slightly.

Polly takes a step to haul Luke away, but Smiffy continues without a second’s break.

“Snogged him in his office, isn’t that the story? Then took off terrified to Kerry, and left him dangling ‘til your stag night.” Smiffy pauses, staring only at Luke, who has neither uttered a sound nor moved a muscle.

Gina gets ready to tear out and kill Smiffy, but Jack, who has seen many a smarmy git hang himself unaided before, holds her arm and puts his finger to his mouth to indicate that it won’t harm them to remain undetected a little longer. 

“Big night of queer romance back at the hotel the night before you got married, Kerry tells me.” Luke’s colleagues stare stunned. “You and Sergeant Gilmore, quite the happy couple. Funny how he transfers so quickly after the happy newly weds came back from their honeymoon.” Luke’s mouth is dry as he remembers Craig’s sad eyes so long ago.

“S’pose you’re figuring me as the same kind of easy lay as Gilmore. He sounds like a right git, chasing after his subordinates like that. Where is he now? Moved sideways to Queer City, Brighton, hasn’t he? Best place for him. Still, you must miss him though.”

Luke can’t quite tell what is rising in his blood at the moment, but it feels familiar and very powerful. 

 

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Luke says with surprising calm, although his eyes are flashing. “He was a great Sergeant. He’d wipe the floor with you.”

Good for you, thinks Gemma. Keep your dignity.

“Oh, he sounds fabulous,” Smiffy sneers. “Hunting out his PCs for a bit on the side. Funny how nobody tried to stop him leaving if he was so great. Doesn’t sound like much of a cop to me, even for a queer.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not known for your piercing insight, are you Smiffy? Gilmore was a great cop. Ask anyone. He was great at his job.” Luke speaks with such conviction that everyone around him silently agrees. 

Gina, straining at Jack’s arm, smiles. She relaxes a bit.

Nobody moves, except for Gary, who turns to Nick.

“Did he screw Gaymore?” he asks Nick in a stage whisper.

“Pay attention,” is all Nick says.

“Yeah, tell us Ashton,” Smiffy says after he hears Gary’s question, “Did you screw Gilmore?”

Complete silence. Jack intensifies his grip.

“Yes I did!” Luke says loudly, moving only an inch towards Smiffy, his hands closed in tight fists. “Yeah! I spent the night with him in a hotel the night before I got married! And you know what? He was fantastic! Not only is he much better fucking cop than you’ll ever be Smiffy, but I bet London to a brick he’s a much better lover too!”

Every single jaw drops. Jack and Gina turn to one another with surprised delighted smiles.

“Gaymore?” Gary whispers to Nick again.

Smiffy moves in a bit closer, a little nervous now. He wasn’t counting on Luke’s courage. 

“So that’s it, is it Ashton? You hoping to screw me too? Asking me down the pub in the hope of getting me into your bed for a bit of comparison? That how you view your supervising officers? Hey? You want to screw me too?” That should put this nasty little queer in his place once and for all, Smiffy thinks.

The power in Luke’s blood continues increases. His courage, absent for so long now, is rising up to meet him. He gives Smiffy a surprisingly angelic smile.

“Oh, I will if you really want Smiffy, but I don’t think it’d be much fun for me,” Luke tells him sweetly.

Every last copper present laughs out loud. Gina and Jack, who know what will happen next, come tearing around the corner.

They are in time to see witness three things.

First, they see Smiffy, his beady eyes blazing, swing his left fist back so far his tie becomes loose.

Second, they see Luke, still completely calm and more than anticipating Smiffy’s reaction, step back precisely eight inches.

Third, they see Sergeant’s Smith closed fist hit the rendered wall with such audible bone cracking intensity that the paint splits and the plaster shatters.

*************************

“He broke his hand in three places,” Gina says happily. “He’s in agony.”

Craig is lounging up one end of his couch while his sister, who is sulking ostentatiously, paints her toenails up the other end.

“Good. I hope it really hurts,” Craig says with conviction.

“Tell you what, Sergeant, I’ve been a copper for a long time and I have never seen anyone defend a fellow officer’s honour the way Ashton defended yours tonight. By the time it was all over everyone was agreeing what a great copper you were.”

“They all hated me,” Craig says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but none of them doubt you’re a good copper. And, if poor old PC Best’s any indication, quite a few of them are curious about your skills in bed.” Gina knows he’ll blush when she says this.

Craig goes red from the jawbone up. It’s pleasure as much as embarrassment, the sheer pleasure of knowing that Luke would defend him so truthfully and so effectively in front of all his friends.

“I have to say, it’s a bit of a surprise,” is all Craig can think to say.

“It was fantastic PR, that’s what it was. We should put Luke in the Police Media office. I keep saying this about Ashton. You think you know someone then you realise you don’t know them at all.”

Craig says nothing, but remembers the first time he read Luke’s file, before Luke had even arrived at the station. So brave, Craig thought then, and he thinks it again.

Craig has never doubted Luke’s courage, although he’s suffered over Luke’s inability to use it judiciously.

“How’s he doing?” Craig checks.

“Okay. He’s seeing a counsellor.”

“But he’s alright?”

“He never talks to me about it, but he seems to be coping,” Gina says.

Craig thinks for a moment, remembering Luke’s angry prickled responses anytime Craig tried to talk to him about personal issues.

“You off tomorrow?” Gina changes the subject.

“Yeah, we’re leaving early.” Craig turns to look at his sister as she her curls her lip menacingly at him. He rolls his eyes at her.

“Travel safely. Have a good rest. Send me a post card.” Gina says.

“Will do. Take care.”

“What was that all about?” Jenny asks when he gets off the phone. She caught scraps of the conversation and gathered enough to know it featured Luke.

“You talking to me now?”

“No, you bloody stubborn git, I just want to know what Gina said that had you blushing like a schoolboy.”

He doesn’t answer.

“You are pathetic, Craig,” Jenny says to him.

“I know,” he says sadly. But Luke doesn’t think so, he thinks to himself with glee. It makes him so happy he tosses his car keys over to his sister.

“You can drive if it makes you happy,” he says as if it’s no big deal.

 

Chapter 30  
Well, so close

“Where is it?” Craig is standing in a storage warehouse in Kilvey Hill, Wales, with his mother, his father, his sister and his grandmother.

“Where’s what?” his mother asks.

Craig takes a deep a breath.

“The wardrobe. The wardrobe we spoke about.” He looks at all three women bewildered.

“It’s there,” his grandmother says casually, pointing to a wardrobe.

“That’s not it,” he says. “My wardrobe. The wardrobe that was in my room.”

“Oh,” says his mother. “THAT wardrobe.”

Craig stares at her. Jenny starts to shake with silent laughter, and stuffs her knuckles in her mouth.

“THAT wardrobe,” Craig says clearly. “Where is it?”

“What wardrobe?” Nana asks.

Jenny shakes a little harder.

“Craig’s wardrobe,” his mother tells her.

“Is it here?” Nana asks.

Craig looks at his father in a last ditch appeal for help. His father just shrugs.

“No, we sent it to Rebus,” his mother says casually.

Jenny shakes so hard she nearly tips over sideways.

Craig looks at the floor for a moment so he can concentrate.

“When did you send it to Rebus?” he asks finally.

“Just after nana went away,” his mother says plainly.

“February?” Craig checks.

Nana nods.

Craig looks at his father again. His father, however, is looking affectionately at Jenny, who is now doubled over.

“So it’s not here,” Craig says.

“No, it’s at Rebus’s,” his mother says.

“Why didn’t you tell me that when I asked you in July?” Craig asks with every last gram of control he can muster.

“I thought you meant that one,” his mother said, smiling. “Besides, I don’t get to see you often.”

He just looks at her, but his heart melts anyway.

***************************

“He’s got it,” Craig’s mother tells him that night after she gets off the phone from Rebus.

“For sure?”

“Yes. He says there are three books and a long letter. Addressed to you. He’s got it there waiting for you.” She smiles at him and Craig follows her as she makes her way back to the kitchen. Jenny’s in there too, eating more of Lilly’s car biscuits. When she sees Craig she starts shaking with silent laughter again.

“You shut up,” he says to her, and she shakes a little more. “How does Rebus know it’s a long letter?” Craig asks, a sickening possibility becoming apparent.

“He read it,” his mother says, slightly distracted.

“He read my letter?” Craig cries. Jenny shakes a little harder.

Craig’s father comes into the kitchen for more of the biscuits too, and smiles when he sees Jenny shaking again. “Get away from my biscuits,” he tells his daughter affectionately in his gruff voice.

“He thought it was for him,” his mother explains. “Well?” she says when Craig looks at her. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because it would have had my name on it!” Craig is exasperated. Jenny shakes more as she holds the jar of biscuits out to her father.

“What’s in the letter?” his father asks him shortly.

“I don’t know,” Craig answers.

“Well, why does it matter if Rebus reads it?” Craig’s father is practical, astute man who says very little.

Craig doesn’t have an answer.

His mother, who looks askance at Jenny and sees that she has calmed down, offers more information.

“Rebus said it was very sweet.”

Jenny starts to shake again.

“Anything else?” he checks. This couldn’t get any worse, thinks Craig.

“He wouldn’t tell me,” his mother said with her serious face. “He said it would discuss with you tomorrow when you get there.”

“Great. That’s everything I need then.” Craig puts his face in his hands and rubs his eyes wearily.

When he looks up he sees Jenny staring at him with the bright lunatic eyes you get when you can’t stop laughing. She is standing next to their father, who is holding the nearly empty jar of car biscuits.

His father looks at Craig with a grave deadpan face and tilts the jar towards his son slightly. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he says, his pronounced, curled accent tainted with a whisper of fun.

********************

Belper is a small town in the North of England, not far from Shottlegate, Mugginton, Quarndon, Turnditch and Heage.

Craig is studying Barthlomew’s Road Atlas of Great Britain (1956) in a dire café in Wibley, somewhere between Swansea and Derby. He is growing to love the atlas.

He notes, over some of the worst toasted sandwiches it has ever been his misery to eat, that Belper is not too far from a town called Leek. He wonders if Leek had anything to do with Rebus relocating from Swansea to the north of England.

“Do you want more tea?” the fishwife who waits the café asks him.

Craig declines politely, and she slaps the bill down on the table. He looks at his watch and figures he should be at Rebus’s house by seven tonight. He wonders how long it will take before he can finally sit down and read Luke’s letter uninterrupted.

He wonders what the letter says.

He wonders how much of the letter is now irrelevant, untrue or unproven. Two years is a long time.

In his heart he has no expectation of ever seeing Luke again, nor does he have any intention of seeking him out.

He does, however, crave some kind of validation for the feelings he has for Luke. Craig feels that he can live comfortably with this frustrating, doomed love for the rest of his life if there is some scrap of proof that Luke loved him for even a few minutes, and even with only half his heart.

I really am pathetic, Craig thinks to himself, grimacing at the awful half-eaten toasted sandwiches.

Later he strolls down the main street of Wibley, trying to remember where he parked his car. His attention is caught by a small bookstore that features a rack of postcards out the front.

Greetings from Wibley

the cards salute against a background of improbable rural idle.

Craig buys five.

Then he stands in the post office for ten minutes, writing brief messages to five of his favourite people.

He finds his car just across the road from the post office.

*****************************

Craig is out of mobile range when Gina calls to tell him that Luke’s father has died.  
***********************

Rebus has a lovely house. It has four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a drawing room if you please and a large wide kitchen with huge windows that face north which ensures it is bathed daily with natural light. There is also a large confused back garden where you can find thriving crops of roses, onions, beetroots, turnips, honeysuckle, impatiens, cabbages, jasmine, carrots and many other things that Rebus has forgotten about.

There’s a small fountain outside too. There are some large fat goldfish in the pond into which the fountain pours.

Rebus also has an implausibly large rabbit called Artie.

It is Artie who comes makes it to the door first when Craig knocks at quarter to eight. He can see a large rabbit shape peering through the frosted glass.

Then he sees a large man shape in the frosted glass, apparently sorting through a bunch of keys.

Then he sees another man shape walk past in the background.

“Well, hello Craig,” Rebus says to him when he finally opens the door. “Come in. Watch Artie. He bites.”

Artie gets drop-kicked if he bites me, Craig thinks.

Craig has not seen Rebus since he was eight.

“Well, you’ve grown,” Rebus says in passing as he leads him through the house. “You’re nearly as tall as me.” Rebus has perhaps an inch on Craig. He makes it sound as if Craig may yet match his height.

“You’re sleeping through here.” Rebus flicks the switch to illuminate a beautiful bedroom with a large window. In the centre is a large bed that is covered with perhaps six pillows and four duvets. On the bed are three new books and one very thick folded up letter. Craig smiles.

“Auntie Pam sent this for you.” Craig hands Rebus the sweater his auntie had wrapped in brown paper.

“Well, I expect it’s another bloody jumper. That woman must have knitted me twenty jumpers and not one of them has ever fitted.” Rebus looks at Craig and shrugs.

“Well, put your bag down. You can go to bed soon. But first you have to have dinner. Michael has been cooking all afternoon. Careful of Artie. He’ll get under your feet on purpose so he can bite you if you accidentally trip on him.”

Craig looks down at Artie again. Artie looks up at Craig with what can only be described as a malevolent rabbit face.

Craig, mindful of the evil Artie, follows Rebus through to the kitchen. There are wonderful hot smells of cooking meet, roasting vegetables, browning sugar, poaching fruit and rising bread. Craig has not eaten anything since he picked at the sandwiches in Wibley, and the scent of the food has reminded him that he very hungry.

“This is my partner Michael,” Rebus says proudly.

Are you gay? thinks Craig. Nobody told me.

Michael turns from the stove shyly and extends his hand. Craig can’t pick his age, but he is perhaps ten years younger than Rebus. Rebus, by Craig’s calculations, is seventy.

Craig’s calculations are actually wrong. Rebus is sixty-eight. Michael, it may as well be clarified now, is fifty-seven.

“Nice to meet you. I hope you’re hungry,” Michael says in a quiet, pleasant voice. He’s Welsh too.

Craig is bit more shy than Michael. “I am very hungry,” he says pleasantly. “It smells great.”

“It will be,” Rebus says confidently. “Well, we may as well sit at the table and have a drink. Come on. Watch out for Artie.”

Artie leaps off just a step ahead of Craig.

Just try it, Artie, thinks Craig, and you’re straight through the goal posts.

***********************

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Craig says as they tuck into Michael’s magnificent cooking.

“Well, it’s a family secret,” Rebus says unconcerned.

“Why?” Craig asks. “Everyone knows about me.”

“Well, you’re young. Its different now,” Michael says, dishing some more crisp roasted vegetables on Craig’s plate unheeded.

“It shouldn’t be any different for you,” Craig reasons.

“Well, not now,” Rebus agrees. “It was thirty years ago.”

“You’ve been together that long?” Craig is very impressed.

“Well, longer, actually. Since nineteen sixty nine.”

Craig has his mouth full of roast beef, and mentally adds it up.

Rebus smiles at him. “Long time.” And then he smiles at Michael.

“Where did you meet?” Craig loves happy endings.

“Well, I was working for the Observer in the Swansea office. I was the sports editor for their Wales edition, and Michael was a typesetter in the same office. There were about five different papers coming out of the office back then.”

“I played for the local Rugby club too. We used to see each other at matches,” Michael says fondly.

“Funny, I always thought you’d been married,” Craig says to Rebus.

“Well, I was,” Rebus says. “And I am now,” he adds, “but this time to someone I actually like.” Michael laughs.

Craig looks at him, confused and very curious, not sure which question to ask first. Rebus saves him the trouble.

“Well, you got married then whether you liked it or not. Swansea was a small place then, and any hint of poofery was the death knell. And I loved my job! I would have been sacked on the spot if there were any suggestion I wasn’t straight. Or more likely driven out by the other blokes before they had the chance to sack me.”

Craig looks at him sadly.

“Well, you have to remember, it was still illegal back then,” Rebus reminds him.

“So what happened?”

“Well, I got married when I was twenty eight. That was considered late. I married one of the copy takers in the office.”

“Jeannie,” Craig remembers.

“Yeah, old Jeannie. Wonder what happened to her?” Rebus muses for a moment.

“So what happened?” Craig asks as he pours some gravy on his meat.

“Well, I’d been married five years before we actually met. I just figured I was stuck with it, you know, I was evil and had to keep it covered up. Then Michael turns up to start work at the office one day and I just fell in love on the spot. I used to think that soulmate stuff was a load of bunkum ‘til I saw him.” Rebus looks up and smiles. “I can tell you now for certain that it isn’t.”

Rebus looks at Michael, and then looks back at Craig.

“But by what I read in that marvellous letter I figure you probably know that already.” He waits for Craig’s reaction.

Craig just smiles.

“It’s a lovely letter,” Michael says warmly. Michael also loves happy endings.

“Is it?” Craig asks. He really wants to know.

Michael nods. “We both got teary when read it.”

Craig is too far past embarrassment to care now.

“I’m looking forward to reading it.”

“Do you ever see Luke?” Rebus asks.

We’re on a first name basis now, thinks Craig.

“I haven’t seen him since the day before he wrote the letter,” he says, eyes down.

“Well, why not?” Rebus asks. He’s genuinely surprised.

“He was married. He’d given me the run around for six months. I couldn’t take it any more. I told him to get lost.” Craig replies.

“Hmm, well, he mentions that. You told him to get lost rather emphatically, I believe,” Rebus chides.

“I didn’t have any choice. I had to get rid of him. His wife was pregnant. It was going to be a disaster no matter which way you looked at it.” Craig rests his knife and fork on his empty plate and pushes it few inches away.

“Is he still married now?” Michael asks.

Craig shakes his head. “They split up about six weeks later. She lost the baby, he came out of the closet.”

“And you still haven’t seen him?”

Craig shakes his head again. “He hasn’t tried to contact me either,” Craig says in his own defence.

“Well, he wrote you an eleven page letter,” Rebus points out. “He’s probably still waiting to hear from you.”

Craig chooses to ignore this and stands up to start stacking the dishes. Michael gets up immediately to help.

“Well,” Rebus says, “Watch out for Artie on your way back. He’ll be waiting for you.”  
**********************

It is eleven oh seven when Craig finally gets into bed.

He unfolds the letter and as soon as he sees Luke’s handwriting his heart leaps.

********************

Rebus and Michael are settling down in bed down the hall. They like Craig.

“You know who he’s like?” Rebus says.

“Who?” Michael says as he turns off the light.

“That plasticine dog. The one on telly that wears a raincoat. Hangs around with the funny chap who eats cheese.”

Michael thinks for a minute.

“Grommit!” he says, and starts to laugh gently.

“That’s him. Grommit. You know what I mean. Serious and practical but a good heart.” Rebus laughs too.

“Go to sleep, you daft old bat,” Michael says affectionately, and he curls into a spoon around the old man, the same way he does every night.

**************************

Down in London, Luke packs his clothes into his overnight bag. He’s left his suit until last, mindful that he does not want to crush it. As he folds it carefully, he feels a small hard square in one of the pockets.

It brings tears to his eyes when he holds the small tablet of soap in his hand.

************************

Back in Belper, Craig is almost buoyant on the duvets and pillows, reading Luke’s letter at last.


	4. Four Kinds of Marmalade Ch: 31-36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story written by - Baxter

Four Kinds of Marmalade - by Baxter

 

Fandom: The Bill  
Pairing: Craig/Luke (and a cast of thousands)  
Rating: R  
Category: appalling language, graphic sex, nerve wracking violence – the whole shebang: don’t try this at home, kids  
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters, am not enjoying any financial compensation for this  
Note: This is a work of fiction. Apart from the characters and the framework of the story (which are not mine and for which I am NOT getting any money), and apart from the names of towns that I found on a map, EVERYTHING else is fabricated. This work of fiction borrows a bit from the original story, and unashamedly glosses over other parts that were uninteresting or that the author failed to comprehend.  
Having said that, the titles of books mentioned are all authentic.  
Timeline: Starts just after Gilmore gets out of hospital, and goes on (and on) for twenty-two months. And then for a couple of extra weeks.

Winner 2003 SO33 Fan Fiction Awards for Best On-Going Serial

 

Chapter 31  
He knew what he meant

 

It is likely that Luke’s bravery could one day earn him a medal. It is just as likely that Luke could rise through the ranks of the Metropolitan Police and make a fine Superintendent.

However, Craig is certain, as he sighs and smiles his way through Luke’s tenuous grasp of grammar and spelling, that at this stage the Booker Prize is still a long way off for Luke.

 

Dear Craig,

I really don’t know where to start, so I thought I’d just write it all out and add stuff as I thought of it. There’s so much to tell you.

I’m sorry I came around and saw you yesterday I wouldn’t have done it if I knew it would make you so upset.

I just really wanted to speak to you about everything that has happened, and I wanted to tell you how wrong everything has gone since I first met you. I tried to go back to the hospital but Gina told me not too and Kerry’s so suspicious I know that’s not much of an excuse. Sorry.

I never meant for anything to happen the way it did. It was supposed to turn out different.

I still don’t know where to start.

Craig smiles to himself.

I guess the best thing is to start at the begining. I don’t know where you think the begining is but for me I think its in the custody room when I came and saw you when you had that bloke drop the complaint against me. Do you remember that?

Craig remembers it clearly.

That’s the first time when I relised I was in love with you. I just looked at you and I knew. It was so strange. I walked away thinking I should tell someone, and I couldn’t think of anyone to tell. Obviouslly I should have told you but I knew you were still with Sean then.

Craig re-reads this three times. It stuns him.

I hate to say this, but I was so happy when you broke up with Sean. I was scared too but when I went around with Gina I wanted to ask you so many questions then and I couldn’t hardly say anything. I kept thinking that you knew that I liked you and I felt so embarassed. I thought you might have liked me, but I really couldn’t tell. I was terrified that you’d come down even harder on me than you already had. 

Then you asked me out for a drink and I freaked out. I didn’t know what to do, I was so scared that you were going to tell me you weren’t interested and to back off. I just thought you knew I liked you. I only went and asked Kerry out so you’d think I was straight and that I couldn’t possibley be interested in you.

Its hard to explain but I didn’t know if I was gay or not. I thought for a while that I might be, but and I know this sounds stupid I wasn’t sure. I mean I had girlfriends in highschool and I just thought I was straight but not in the same way that everyone else was. And since I went away I thought more and more that maybe I am gay because I don’t want a girlfriend but I was never sure what I might be because I didn’t think I wanted a boyfriend either. I mean I didn’t think I wanted a boyfriend until I met you.

I hate to say this but I’m telling you the truth so I may as well. Its as bad as everything else I’m confessing I suppose. I don’t love Kerry at all and whats worse I knew all along I never loved her. I don’t know how it got so out of hand I kept expecting her to work it out but she just kept going and I suppose I just went along with it.

It sounds really stupid now.

Craig stops for a moment. He is astounded. He cannot believe how wrong he was.

Anyway before that I thought I could fix it up when Reg was kidnaped.

You probabley won’t believe me, but I didn’t go in to your office to kiss you that night. I thought about it really hard, I sat in the locker room for ages planning it all out. I was supposed to just go in there and ask you down the pub with everyone else, and I thought you’d just come. You were supposed to say yes!

Craig smiles sadly.

I just thought you’d come. I couldn’t believe it when you changed the subject. You didn’t want to know about it. I thought I’d blown my chances completley. I didn’t plan for what would happen if you didn’t come down the pub. Anyway, I didn’t know what to do I was so pissed off and I just figured you thought I was a waste of time because you thought I was a bad copper. 

I don’t know what I was expecting when I went up to you at the filing cabinet. I just thought you might say something nice, or just tell me that you didn’t hate me even if you didn’t mean it I couldn’t believe my ears when said you liked me. I was so shocked. And then I just couldn’t help myself. I’d been thinking about it for weeks but the way I planned it you were supposed to kiss me.

That was my plan too, darling, Craig thinks.

It was so good. I just felt this incredible relese it just seemed so right. I didn’t think it would be so good. I really didn’t think you’d be such a great kisser! It was so much more than I was hoping. And then I really freaked out.

You were so kind to me, the way you just let me leave. You didn’t try to pressur me or anything. I think that might have made it worse not that I’m blaming you but I think maybe we should have talked about it then. Too late for that now I guess but then maybe I would have freaked out more.

Anyway the next day I was so scared I was going to call in sick. And then I thought I really wanted to talk to you, and then I was terrified when I saw you.

I keep trying to remember what I was so scared off. I felt so stupid, and I really wanted you to think that I knew what I was doing but the truth is Craig I had no idea what I was doing. I’ve never been involved with anyone really before let alone my boss and I was terrified I mean really terrified.

And when you kept trying to talk to me I just got worse because I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know whether to talk to you or tell you that I had no idea what was going on and I didn’t know what would happen between us or what you wanted to happen.

And then I went back to Kerry and spent the night with her and I hated myself because the whole time I was just thinking of you.

The worst thing in the locker room, that’s the second thing that I most ashamed of. I should never have said those things to you. I hate myself for that. I swear I didn’t mean any of it. I kept thinking as I was saying it how badly I was hurting you but I couldn’t stop myself.

I know you thought I was just letting off steam because of the way you told us both off but it wasn’t that at all. I was just so scared and I guess I knew even then that I was just digging myself in to a worse hole with Kerry.

And then it just got worse. I was so angry when I saw you with Carl. I’ve never wanted to kill anyone like I wanted to kill him that day when I bought him in. I had no idea you were seeing him you were right I was really jealous. I couldn’t believe you found someone else so fast. I know how that sounds when I think of how fast I was with Kerry, but I didn’t expect you to start seeing someone else. I was so jealous of him, and I was really angry at you.

I guess I was so angry that it made me relieved I was with Kerry after all. I thought that maybe I was right and you didn’t like me as much as I liked you anyway.

Craig sighs when he reads this.

So for a while there I didn’t care I just thought I could concentrate on getting married and everything would be all right. And then I just started thinking about you all the time. It got worse and worse, the more I tried not to think about you the more I wanted to see you. And you just seemed to cut off from me. I mean I don’t blame you at all its just that I missed you so much. I was starting to get really scared about getting married and a couple of times I thought I could talk to you, but like I said you just seem to cut off from me. I just figured you really hated me, or just thought I was some pathatic closet case who wasn’t worth worrying about.

I’ve just read this back and I’m worried that you might have fallen asleep. I’ll try to make the rest really fast.

Craig smiles again.

Anyway, on my stag night, I planned just to keep away from you because I felt so guilty and so ashamed of everything that had happened.

I guess I should warn you that this is the soppy bit.

Craig can feel his heart rattling.

Its hard for me to write about the night we had together because it was just so special. One of the things I wanted to say to you yesterday was thank you for making it so special for me. And it was so special I think it was the best thing that ever happened to me. It was like a first time for me, and I just never thought it would be so good.

I was never turned on by Kerry but I never expected to be so I guess I wasn’t expecting much from anyone else. I just couldn’t believe how great it was to be with you and I know that’s because I love you so much. I think you just cant apresiate what it is to make love with someone unless you love them.

And I could tell just by the way you touched me and how you looked at me how much you loved me. I think touching you and having you touch me was the most amazing thing I’ve ever learnt. I just didn’t know it would be so great I miss it all the time.

But leaving the next morning was the worse thing. I just zoned out. When you told me that you loved me I relised that I knew that all along and just never knew it if you know what I mean. I was just standing in the bathroom, thinking about all the lies I told and how I couldn’t undo any of then now that everyone was waiting for us to get married. And the whole time I was thinking that I was just like my father that I was going to get married to someone I didn’t love and have kids I didn’t want and take it out on them until they ran away from me.

Craig closes his eyes for a second. He wished he never known that.

I still can’t believe I did that to you. I don’t know how I did it. Even if you never talk to me again you have to believe that I will never stop being sorry for walking away from you like that.

Everyone says that getting married is the happiest day of your life but for me I think it was the saddest day, because the whole time I was thinking how badly I’d botched everything but mostly how I just walked off and left you there.

When I saw you when you left I didn’t know what to say. When you said have a nice life I just thought that my life was never going to be nice now.

Seeing you in hospital made it worse because I thought I might really lose you for all time and never get tell you how I really feel about you. I wanted to tell you when I visited you but I got scared all over again. And you were so sick so I just made it worse again.

After I saw you yesterday I felt like I had made you feel inside what those bastards who beat you made you feel outside.

Anyway I came to see you yesterday because I can’t stop thinking about you and Ive made a desision well lots of desisions actually.

Oh Christ, thinks Craig.

I don’t know how you feel about me now. Yesterday before I got there I thought there still might be a chance that you might still mean it that you love me, and that maybe we could work something out but now it seems like you really hate me. I’m hoping that maybe I can make it so you don’t hate me or at least not as much as you do now.

You know that Kerry’s pregnent and I am determined to stick by her for that but I don’t want to be married to her. She deserves to know this as soon as possible but I want to sort some things out with you before I tell her how many lies I told.

I want to tell her what happened between us and I want you to know that Im telling her. I wont tell her if you don’t want me to.

If you say its okay, I’ll tell he the whole story and then Im going to put in for a transfer to make it easier on her after I tell her.

This is the hard bit.

I honestly don’t blame you if you never want to see me again but I am hoping that you might maybe when you’ve settled in to your new job and you get better.

I understand if you don’t want to see me again but if you do even if its just for a minute please call me. You have my mobile and so you can call me even if I transfer but I hope you wont wait that long.

I don’t know now how you feel about me having a kid. I really excited about it in a way and this sounds so corny but Id love to have you know my baby too.

Craig slumps his head back on the pillow and sighs deeply.

When you said all of those things yesterday you made it clear you don’t want to have a relationship with me anymore but I just cant acept that I will never be able to talk to you again. Maybe when you feel better we could talk and maybe we could be friends. I owe you so much and I have done so many shitty things to you that I have a lot of making up to do and I really want to make it up. I don’t know how but you have to believe me when I say I want to try.

All I know is I don’t want to be everything you hate in a man. I don’t want to be the person you said I’d become I don’t want to be some slutty queen like you said. I want to be someone that youd like and want to be friends with.

Craig winces, remembering the things he said to Luke.

But like I say I understand if you never want to see me again. I hope this isn’t what will happen it just seems like such a waste. The more I think about it the more I relise that you are the one person who I really want. It sounds so stupid to say it but its true. Sometimes I try to imagine if I could really the only person that you would want and it doesn’t seem possibel but maybe you might want me for a while.

I’m willing to take that chance.

Craig closes his eyes again.

Anyway if you’ve got this far maybe there is a chance that you’ll call me? Even if its only to let me say how sorry I am for what ive done to you. I never wanted to hurt you I only wanted to do the right thing. Maybe now when I tell Kerry the truth I can.

It harder to finish this letter than it is to start it because I don’t want to say goodbye. I don’t want to say things like good luck and take care of yourself as if I’ll never see you again because I just cant imagine never seeing you again and to tell you the truth Craig I just cant imagine being in love with someone the way that I’m in love with you.

Gina won’t tell me where youre going but I guess its somewhere on the other side of London because your moving. I heard Matt say you were going to Brighton but I wasn’t sure if he was making one of his queer jokes again. (no offence. but I think its okay to say queer if I’m queer too. That’s the other thing I’m gay and I don’t know how to be gay there should be a manual.)

Craig laughs.

Please call me. I miss you so badly and I really want to apologise to properly. You can even abuse me again if you like, but just give me the chance to tell you in person that I know how badly I’ve acted and that I know you didn’t deserve any of it.

I really do miss you. Its like Ive been missing you every day since the first day I met you because everytime we were together it seemed like I could never be with you as long as I wanted and I could never tell you all the things I wanted.

By the way sorry about the spelling I should have nicked that dictionery that you gave me that time.

I love you so much.

Luke

 

Craig lies with the letter on his chest and stares at the ceiling. Then he reads the letter a second time, and when he finishes it he reads it a third time.

And then he lies there, not thinking anything but at the same time his mind is racing.

He loved me after all, Craig thinks. He said he loved me. It just makes it worse, really.

He goes back over the letter and reads his favourite bits. And, because no one can see him to tell him how pathetic he is, he kisses the letter before he places it gently on the handsome bedside table. 

Chapter 32  
All out please change

Luke arrives at Nottingham station mid morning on Friday. The funeral has been wedged in last at the ugly little chapel in the cemetery. They were lucky to get his father in, Luke’s grandmother tells him when he arrives, otherwise he would have been waiting all weekend.

The thought of his father being squeezed in last on a Friday for his funeral makes Luke horribly depressed. 

***********************

Craig is splitting firewood in his uncle’s backyard. He was conned into this tedious task over breakfast.

“Well, what are your plans today?” Rebus had asked.

“I thought I’d head back to Brighton,” Craig said as he tucked into Michael’s excellent breakfast.

 

“Not via London?”

Craig shakes his head. “Why?”

“Well, I want to ask you two favours,” Rebus says without a hint of shyness.

“Sure,” Craig says between mouthfuls. “What?”

“Well, we’re old. You’re not. We feel the cold. We have fires in every room.”

Craig watches, nodding slowly. “And?”

“Well, we have a pile of wood down the yard that needs to be chopped and split.” Rebus looks at him carefully. He knows his chances are pretty good.

Craig has never cut firewood in his life but he can’t imagine that it is too difficult.

“I’ll split your wood for you. What’s the second favour?”

Rebus smiles. “Well, I need you to take a package to London.”

“What kind of package?” he says cautiously. Craig has had many detailed experiences with suspicious packages.

“Well, it’s a plain package. It’s for a friend of ours. We don’t know his exact address but we know what house he lives in. We need you to find the house and deliver the package.”

Craig waits to see what reservations he may have about this.

“I don’t get it,” he says finally to Rebus.

“Well, it’s simple. Chop wood all day, we’ll feed you and indulge you in as much hospitality as you want. You leave tomorrow morning and go home to Brighton via London. Deliver the package to our friend and then you’re free.”

“What’s in the package?”

“A tablecloth. You can check if you like,” Rebus says.

“Why don’t you send it?” Craig asks.

“Well, because I only know the house, not the exact address. I don’t want it to fall in to the wrong hands,” Rebus explains.

“A tablecloth?” Craig says again.

“Oh just say yes,” Rebus tells him.

So Craig is splitting wood and tomorrow he is delivering a package to London. He doesn’t mind so much. He finds swinging the axe curiously satisfying, and takes pride in the pile of neatly hacked firewood he accumulates,

Later in the morning Michael approaches him in the wild backyard. The opportunistic Artie is hot pursuit.

“You have must have a lot of washing with you,” Michael says hopefully.

“Why?” is Craig’s first reaction.

“I’m happy to do it for you if you don’t mind me going through your bag.”

“Craig shrugs. “If you want. Why?”

“I like washing and ironing,” he replies, and heads back to the kitchen.

Artie stays for a moment and eyeballs Craig, considering his options. Craig stares back at him, gently swinging the axe.

Artie beats Michael back to the kitchen.

******************************  
Luke thinks this must be the most miserable turn out for a funeral in the history of Nottingham.

He is standing by the edge of the hacked out earth, alongside six members of his family, waiting for the first clod of dirt to be tossed on the coffin. Luke feels devoid of any emotion. He just wants it to be over so he can get out of the cold.

He watches the bored vicar pick up a handful of dry soil and shake it loosely in his fist before he sets the burial in motion. Luke suddenly remembers being four, sitting in the park with his father, feeding unshelled peanuts to squirrels.

“See?” his father says to his little boy. “See how they pat the ground down when they bury the peanuts? Aren’t they clever?” Luke can remember thinking the squirrels were indeed clever, and so was his father. A horrible wave of misery flushes through him as he sees his father clearly, and hears him distinctly, and for just a few seconds all he wants is to see him again as he was twenty two years ago.

And then it occurs to him that he’ll never see him again, and his eyes blind with tears.  
********************

�Well, are you going to write back to Luke?” Rebus asks they eat later night. Michael has made an extraordinary casserole of lamb shanks and winter vegetables. He serves his legendary bread and butter pudding for dessert. Craig wonders briefly if he should transfer to Derby and just move in.

“No,” Craig answers firmly, his shoulders still a little stiff and his back still aching.

The two older men stop eating. “Why the hell not?” Rebus demands.

Craig’s plans to move in dissipate immediately.

“It’s over. I haven’t seen him for two years. It took me months to get over him, and I don’t trust him.” He says this without looking up.

“But what if he still loves you?” Michael pleads.

“He doesn’t,” Craig says briefly. He looks up and sees their disappointed faces.

“I know he doesn’t. He had lots of relationships since I last saw him. He’s well and truly over me.” Rebus and Michael don’t look convinced.

I’m old too,” Craig adds by way of explanation. “I don’t have the energy for Luke anymore.”

“It must have been hard for him to write that letter,” Michael says gently.

Craig looks at him frankly. “He put me through the wringer, Michael. I didn’t know whether I was coming or going with him. In the end I had to leave a good job and my home to get away from him. I can’t do it again.” Craig really doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“Well, maybe he’s changed,” Rebus suggests.

“It’s too late”, Craig says finally. “I don’t care whether he’s changed or not.”

“Well, for someone who doesn’t care you went to enormous trouble to get your hands on that letter,” Rebus points out correctly.

Craig shrugs.

“Well, it seemed important.” Craig cannot come up with anything more convincing.

Rebus stares at him hard.

“I don’t want the drama,” Craig says with a note of something like desperation in his voice. “I don’t want to have to turn around in a few months’ time and see that I’m back in the same miserable place I was two years ago.” He looks down at his plate. Across the table, Michael’s generous heart goes out to him.

“You’re happy with your life now?” Michael asks gently.

The question takes Craig by surprise, and he has to think for moment.

“Yes, yes I am,” he answers eventually. Michael smiles at him, encouraging Craig to give a bit more detail.

“I like order. I hate surprises and I hate drama. I like to know what’s going on, and I like to plan for what might happen. I don’t want a big explosive relationship. I’d be happy to have what you have,” here Craig gestures around the comfortable warm room, the staid and practical old furniture, the perfect Rosenthal plates. “And a partner I like. No drama, no fireworks.”

Michael and Rebus look at eachother knowingly.

“Well, I thought that’s what you had. Your grandmother told me ages ago that you had a place in London with some computer technician bloke. What happened there?” Rebus asks.

Craig doesn’t say anything.

“Well?” Rebus wants him to say it.

“I left him because of Luke,” Craig says with a little shame. “I made a mistake.”

“It was no mistake,” Rebus assures him. “You left him because you weren’t really in love with him and were drawn to the idea that you could actually have a great love with someone. That’s not a mistake. It’s common sense when you think about it.”

Craig says nothing. He wishes he could go to bed.

“Well, look,” Rebus continues, “There’s nothing simple about falling in love with someone. It doesn’t come in a neat package with a use-by date and a how-to manual. It’s unpredictable and volatile. Just ask Luke. For all the grief he bought you, it seems you brought him ten times as much, whether you meant to or not.”

Craig has never thought about it that way. 

“Just say Luke dies tomorrow.” A thin shiver runs up Craig’s spine. “What do you think you’ll regret more? That you transferred to Brighton, or that you never made the effort to see him and find out what might have been?”

Craig doesn’t answer.

“Anyone can settle for mediocrity. I could have had a fine life if I’d stayed in Swansea with old Jeannie. I threw in a great job, embarrassed my entire family and had to move two hundred miles away for my great love. And you know what?"

“What?” Craig is sick of this.

“I've never regretted it once. You just said yourself you’d like this kind of happiness. Well, maybe you might get it if you’re brave.”

“I’ll think about it,” Craig says finally, although he has no intention of doing any such thing.

Before he goes to sleep that night, he reads Luke’s letter over and over again. For a brief moment he wonders if Rebus was right. Maybe I should contact him.  
He thinks of Luke now, older, wounded and raw, and he seems so far away.

He’s well and truly over me, Craig decides as he lies in the comfortable warm bed. There’s no point.  
**************************

Craig is up early in the morning. He showers while the house is still dark, and creeps back to his room to dress. It’s cold, and he is concentrating on making as little noise as possible to avoid waking his hosts.

He hauls his bag on his bed and notes that all his clothes are clean and pressed.

He’s pulling on a pair of jeans when he steps on something warm and soft, and almost bites a hole in his lip when he feels the sharp nip on his naked ankle.

***********************

Craig is packing his car.

“Has Artie bitten you yet?” Rebus asks. He sounds a little hopeful.

“He got me this morning when I getting dressed,” Craig says ruefully.

“He bites all our guests sooner or later,” Michael says as he hands the elusive parcel over. He is wearing Rebus’s new jumper, and it suits him.

“I thought rabbits were timid,” Craig says. “What’s his problem?” 

“Artie? He’s just not a particularly nice rabbit”, Rebus says.

“Does he bite you?”

“He has in the past.”

“And not now?”

“He stopped when I slugged him over the head with a copy of Truman Capote’s biography,” Rebus said crisply.

“It was the hardcover,” Michael adds. 

**************************

Luke has just boarded the nine forty train to London. He has a window seat and a cup of stewed British Rail coffee. It’ll do until I get home, he decides.

**************************

And now we’re pretty much back where we started.

*************************

What is the problem here, Craig wonders with increasing irritation as the traffic continues to bank up on the motorway.

***************************

The train grinds to a halt for the fifth time. Luke looks up from his book and stares out the window at the grey wet landscape. What is the matter with this train?

****************************

Craig is stuck in traffic, poring over Bartholomew’s Road Atlas of Great Britain (1956). He is trying to work out where he is so he can take a turn off and make his way to London off the motorway.  
**************************

The guard is coming through the train. He tells passengers seat by seat that there is something wrong with the engine and the train cannot gather any speed without the brakes cutting in. They'll be stopping at the next station. Coaches are being organised to take them on to London.

“How long do we have to wait?” an aggressive old man with an overactive prostate gland asks.

“Probably about four hours,” the hapless guard answers. “There’s a hold up on the motorway.”

Luke hopes that his fish will last without food until he gets home.

******************************

Craig has no idea where he is. He has taken the first turn off he came to, driven through the remnants of a forest and is currently walking down the main street, if you could call it that, of a pretty little village. He wants to sit unmolested with a cup of coffee and Bartholomew’s Road Atlas of Great Britain (1956) to work out how he will get to London.

He wishes he had left yesterday.

He checks his watch, and realises that it is still showing the same time as it did at least an hour ago. Bloody battery, he thinks. 

The street becomes crowded as he makes his way to the town centre. He comes across stalls and more people; it is evidently a continuation of the grand  
European tradition of market day.

Craig is looking for a cash machine. When he spies one he has to push through crowds of people, and then has to stand behind a large absurdly dressed woman in her sixties, who is apparently making several transactions.

Craig hates her immediately. It is probably better that he doesn’t know that she is the local fortune teller.

When she finally finishes, she haphazardly pushes the money into her battered tapestry coin purse and walks smack bang into him. She feels hot bursts of electricity fly from Craig’s skin.

She looks up and has one of her rare but frighteningly accurate flashes.

“You’re going to meet the love of your life today!” she says as soon as she sees his face. These turns scare her more than anybody else.

“Oh for Christ’s sakes,” Craig says rudely. He is really not in the mood for this.

“No,” she says, sincere and nervous, “You really are. I can see him! He’s here already!” And then it leaves her, just like that.

“I’ve already met the love of my life and he married someone else,” Craig says sharply, trying to get around her so he can use the machine.

“Watch and see,” she says, and walks away, feeling a little weak.

The fortune teller is sitting at her stall a few minutes later, idly shuffling her cards for her first customer when a young man pushes past her stall. Another burst of electricity goes through her and she looks up to see the young man’s sad face.

“That’s him!” she says to no one in particular.

“That’s who?” the confused young woman sitting opposite her asks.

“He’ll find out,” the fortune teller says smugly.

*************************

Craig finds himself standing within thirty feet of three cafes. He walks into the one that has a spare table. The place is crowded, packed with chattering diners and squalling children. Craig hates it immediately and wishes he went to one of the other places.

He is just about to leave when the waitress approaches. She currently has a migraine and hates everybody.

“The cook’s not here so there’s no menu. I can do you coffee or tea or hot  
chocolate, and we have selection of cakes in the window. The only hot food is toast.”

“Where’s the cook?” Craig asks.

“He’s stuck on the motorway.”

I'll have a cup of coffee and toast,” Craig says without smiling.

“D’you want jam with that?” Her head is so sore that her eyes are red.

“Is there any marmalade?” he asks hopefully.

She nods, not looking at him as she fills in his order on her little pad.

“I’ll have marmalade.”

When she’s gone he remembers that he meant to ask her where he is.

***********************

Craig has his head stuck in Bartholomew’s Road Atlas of Great Britain (1956) when the young man walks in. He sees a couple leaving the table up the back of the café and makes his way to it. He doesn’t see Craig, and Craig, obviously, doesn’t see him.  
**************************

Half an hour later Craig has plotted his route to London and figures that he could get back home by eight tonight at the latest. At the moment he is staring at map 14, marveling at all the places in Wales he has never seen.

The young man up the back hates this place and is leaving. His coffee was execrable. He stands up to walk to the counter, pushing his way past strollers and gossiping mothers.

Everybody is in the right place at the right time.

Then there’s a power outage.

The lights go out, and the café become eerily dark, despite the light from the day outside still pouring through the large front window.

The CD player cuts out and everyone is silent.

The clock on the town hall chimes one o’ clock.

Across the road the jeweller draws the blind on his window that reads Chedworth Jeweller and Watchmaker.

The waitress with the migraine is serving tea and a jug of water at the table next to Craig. She jumps when the power goes out and looks like she will overbalance, taking her tray with her.

The young man making his way to the counter leans forward slightly and puts his hand very close to her back to stop her falling over and to stop the large jug of water tipping on the table behind her.

Craig looks up to see the jug of water slop slightly and his first thought is that Bartholomew’s Road Atlas of Great Britain (1956) will be ruined. His eyes are fixed on the jug as it rights itself.

The young man also has his eyes fixed on the jug and when the waitress regains her feet he finds himself staring straight into Craig’s face.

The power comes back on and everyone sighs.

Craig and the young man stare at each other for what seems like hours.

They both feel their innards disintegrate.

“Hello,” Craig says finally, warily.

“Hello,” Luke repeats back to him.

And despite all the misery and distrust and anger and humiliation and sadness and grief that they have bandied back and forth between each other for so long, their next response is to smile at one another.

Chapter 33  
Getting there

 

Craig and Luke continue to stare at each other for another few seconds.

He looks gorgeous, they both think.

“How have you been?” Craig asks. He feels crushed with embarrassment and shyness.

Luke nods, dropping his eyes slightly. “Fine, fine,” he lies.

The awkwardness continues until Craig asks, “Do you want to sit down?” His heart is in his mouth.

Luke is terrified but what he wants kicks in quicker than what he thinks.

“Sure. Thanks.”

And he sits down opposite Craig.

One of us will have to start talking, they both think.

“How have you been?” he asks Craig.

“Good. I’m well.” Craig has never felt so shy of anyone in his life.

Luke takes a deep breath.

“You’re in Brighton now?”

Craig smiles. Luke smiles back with pleasure from seeing the smile again.

“Yeah, I’m at Central.”

“Is it okay?” Luke recovers a little. 

“It’s great. I’m really happy there.” Craig is looking over Luke’s face in the classic triangle – left eye, right eye, mouth, left eye. He does look younger, Craig thinks. And he hasn’t shaved. Suits him.

“Yeah? That’s good, I’m glad,” Luke says. His eyes are so dark, he thinks. Fabulous. He looks so well.

The waitress with a migraine comes back to the table. Both resent her intrusion.

“Do you want more coffee?” she says nastily.

Craig looks at Luke to see what he wants to do. Luke wants to stay and talk to Craig.

“Yeah, thanks,” says Luke.

She stamps off, her head throbbing.

“What are you doing here?” Craig asks finally.

“Train broke down. I’ve been to Nottingham.” Luke doesn’t want to mention the funeral, doesn’t want to mention his father.

Boyfriend, Craig thinks, and he floods with disappointment. He can’t think of anything to say.

“Visiting?” is the best he can do.

Damn, he thinks I’ve got someone. “My father’s funeral,” he says reluctantly.

“I’m so sorry,” Craig says, filling with relief.

Luke shrugs. “Why are you here?”

Craig doesn’t think. “I’m stalking you,” he says, eyes glinting.

Luke laughs out loud and a couple of people turn around. Then it becomes a lot easier.

*********************

They each have two more cups of the shocking coffee over the next ninety minutes.

They’re warming to each other slowly, desperately trying to second-guess the other on what is actually happening. Does he want to go? Does he want to stay? Is he happy to see me? Is this just small talk and then I’ll never see him again?

“So you’re waiting for the train?” Craig asks again.

“No, waiting for the bus to replace the train,” Luke says with a small smear of frustration.

“Why didn’t you drive?”

Luke laughs a little. May well as bring it up sooner rather than later.

“Kerry got the car. I’m still paying that off.” Luke shrugs. “My mum lets me use hers when I need it, but I can walk to work in fifteen minutes and it’s not hard to get around London on public transport. I walk a lot.”

Kerry.

“How is Kerry?” Craig checks, wondering what his reaction will be.

“No idea. Last time I saw her she told me she was never wanted to speak with me again,” Luke tells him dispassionately. Then something occurs to him. “I think you might be included in that,” he smiles.

Craig smiles back. For a second they share a distinct recollection of why Kerry hates them both and they smile at each other. It was worth it, they both think.

Craig finally rakes up all his courage.

“Do you want a lift back to London?” he says finally. His heart is thumping. Pathetic, he thinks.

It’s a hard one for Luke. He doesn’t want to let Craig out of his sight, he would love to get home, he doesn’t think he could cope with not seeing him again, he doesn’t want to come on to him for fear of rejection.

Craig finds a bit more courage he never knew he had.

“Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. There’s no pressure. But I’m going that way anyway.” He says it as plainly and as casually as he can. Please say yes, he’s thinking.

“I’d love a lift. That’d be great.”

“There’s one thing,” Craig warns him.

Luke takes a deep breath. “What?” 

“The heating in my car is broken”.

“Well I’m not going,” he says with a straight face.

And they laugh again.

***************************

It’s only a little awkward in the car. They skip around major things – they don’t discuss relationships, they don’t discuss what happened between them, Luke is very vague about the last six months.

But they talk happily about their work, their flats, their friends and the stuff they do.  
**********************

“Why do you call her Peggy?” Luke asks.

“She catches pegs,” Craig tells him. It is a constant source of disappointment to him that no one is as impressed by Peg’s skills as he is.

“What? Clothes pegs?”

“Yeah.”

Luke thinks for a minute. “She finds clothes pegs and brings them to you?”

“Yeah.”

Luke thinks again. “That’s pretty smart for a cat,” he decides.

************************

“Must have been hard for you, with your father sick for so long.”

Luke looks out the window, thinking about the earth freezing in winter. “Harder for my brother, really. He – my father – had been living up there with him and his family.”

“Did you see him when he was sick?” Craig wonders how close to the bone he is getting.

“I haven’t seen him since I was eleven,” Luke says after a bit.

“It’s hard to know what’s the right thing to do with those kinds of relationships.” That didn’t come out right, he thinks.

But Luke knows exactly what he means. “It is. I thought about it a lot. I just couldn’t face him. I couldn’t feel sorry or him. He was horrible to my mum.” Luke looks out the window. “He was horrible to all of us. I didn’t want to hear him apologise for it. I don’t think I would have believed him.”

“Was the funeral okay?” 

“It was awful,” Luke says with feeling, turning around again. “No one came. Vicar couldn’t be less interested. I just hope dad couldn’t see it.”

“Your mum didn’t go?”

“Nup. She never even talks about him. I don’t blame her.” It’s interesting, thinks Luke, it’s not hard to talk to him about this. He seems to have gotten softer or something.

Luke looks down to Craig’s hand on the gear stick and for a tiny second wonders what would happen if he reached out and touched his skin. The thought seems so unlikely that it dissolves by itself.

*************************

“Where did you get your atlas?” Luke asks later as he flicks through Bartholomew’s Road Atlas of Great Britain (1956). They are just about at Reading.

“My sister bought it for me,” Craig answers, wondering where this will lead.

“At Camden?” Luke asks, looking intently at a map. His heart beats a little faster.

Craig nods as he overtakes a bus. He pretends to concentrate a lot harder than he is.

“Did she tell you she saw me there?” Luke asks.

“Yeah.”

They’re silent for a minute.

“What’s her name?”

“Jenny.”

Scary Jenny, he thinks to himself. “Is she older or younger than you?” He could never work it out.

“Same age,” Craig smiles.

Luke thinks for a tic. He looks up and smiles at Craig. “Are you twins?”

“We are!” he answers, and his smile lights up his face. 

“I didn’t know you were a twin!” What a lovely thing to learn about someone, Luke thinks.

Craig is almost about to say that there are a lot of things Luke doesn’t know about him, but it seems a bit forward. He looks over briefly and smiles at Luke, and can see that is exactly what he is thinking anyway.

***************************

“It’s down here.” Luke says, his finger holding the point on the A-Z where Rebus’s tablecloth is going. They’re somewhere near Surbiton.

Craig really needs to go to the bathroom.

They turn left into a long road and Craig slows down, looking for the red house with the yellow gables across the road from the newsagent, as Rebus instructed.

“That’s red,” Luke says, peering out across Craig.

“Gables are yellow,” Craig agrees.

They both look out the other side. There’s a newsagent there too.

“Must be it. I won’t be a minute.” Craig wonders if this friend of Rebus would let  
him use their bathroom.

Luke sees a general store opened just down the road.

“I’m just going to get some milk. I’ll see you back here?”

“Sure.”

***********************

“Were they happy to get their parcel?” Luke asks when Craig gets back into the car.

“No,” Craig says. “He took it from me, opened it and then slammed the door on me.” He seems more amused than anything else.

“It’s a strange thing to send to someone, a tablecloth,” Luke observes.

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t think it would upset someone so much.” Craig wonders what that pair of mischievous old queens are up to.

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“Well, I suppose I’d better get you home. You’ll have to direct, I haven’t got a clue where I am.”

He doesn’t seem to care I’m going, Luke thinks sadly.

Should I ask him if he wants to get a drink? thinks Craig. Then I could go to the bathroom too.

***************************

“This one, here on the left.”

Craig pulls in to the curb. He is convinced that his kidneys are about to rupture, and he is dreading saying goodbye again. He doesn’t know what to do or say. Asking Luke if he can use his bathroom seems like the worst come-on line imaginable.

Luke looks briefly at him and then just opens his door. Craig jacks the boot.

Should I get out and say goodbye or just speak to him out the window? He doesn’t seem to care much. I don’t want to look like a fool yet again, Craig thinks.

Well at least I got to see him again. He doesn’t hate me, or at least he was nice to me. Luke thinks hard. I should apologise now. I should apologise to him. At least I get closure. I can move on properly if I’ve said sorry.

He looks at Craig through the window as he winds it down.

Craig looks back, searching his face for some clue as to what to do.

“I wanted to tell you something,” Luke says, his voice a little shaky.

“Hang on.” Craig gets out and stands a few feet from him.

Luke looks down for a second, summoning his courage. Look him in the eye, he tells himself.

He takes a sudden gulp of breath.

“I’m sorry about the way I treated you. I’m sorry about all the things I did to you. I know you don’t care, but I have to tell you that I really didn’t mean for it to turn out as bad as you did, and I have to know that you know I’m truly sorry.”

Craig’s eyes are fixed on Luke’s. He wants to grab Luke and squeeze him but instead folds his arms across his chest.

“I know. I understand.” He looks down for a moment. How do you do this? “I accept your apology. It’s water under the bridge now. Let’s forget it.”

Luke looks at him, something wistful and regretful in his face. Craig can’t quiet fathom the expression.

“I – I shouldn’t have written that letter. Your sister told me….,” he falters for a minute. “I wished I hadn’t written it. I feel really stupid.” He looks away. It’s important, he thinks, I have to tell him. “I meant it. I meant everything in it.”

Craig just looks at him. Christ help me, he thinks.

Luke shrugs a bit. He’s not sure where to go. “I was stupid to think you’d answer. I don’t what I was thinking.”

Craig stares at him, the sad face looking down. What if you never see him again?

“Look, don’t be so hard on yourself. I probably would have answered it eventually.” Craig eyes wander over Luke’s features, trying to imprint the face on his heart forever. “I only got it two days ago.”

Luke looks up at him. He doesn’t comprehend.

“It was at my Uncle’s place.” Craig looks across the road. We could be doing this forever, he thinks, skirting around the bloody issues and never getting there. Meanwhile I’m going to die of peritonitis. “It’s a long story,” he says hastily.

“Two days ago?” Luke confirms.

Craig nods.

“Did you read it?”

Craig smiles a bit. He has read it nine times.

“I read it.”

Then neither of them knows what to say. Ball’s in your court, darling, Craig thinks. Please hurry.

Luke checks Craig’s face again. He stares at him for a few seconds, then closes his eyes and presses his lips shut. He feels brittle, as if one negative word will reduce him to powder.

“Luke.” Craig says.

“Mmm?” The young sad face looking at him wondering, hopeful. 

“I’m going to die if I don’t go to the bathroom soon. You either have to direct me to the nearest pub and I’ll come back here and talk to you out here or let me come upstairs and use yours. I’ll even leave straight away if it’s a problem, but I’m not going to last much longer.”

Luke smiles but doesn’t look up.

“You want some dinner?”

Well, that would be nice.

Craig nods.

“You’ll have to bring your bag. This isn’t the nice part of town. Cars get robbed here all the time.” Still he stands there. Craig goes over to the trunk. He thinks a sweat has broken out down his back.

Then he follows Luke upstairs.

***************************

“Better?” Luke asks him when he reappears.

“Much better. Thank you.”

Luke is in the kitchen, slicing a red capsicum.

“This is a really nice place,” Craig says appreciatively. “It’s really homey. Welcoming.”

“I like it,” Luke says proudly. “This won’t take long. But I don’t have a table. Sorry. We have to eat in the lounge over the coffee table.”

“Okay,” he says unconcerned. “Why don’t you have a table?”

“I don’t know,” Luke answers. “I mean, Kerry took the one we had, and I’ve just got used to not having one. I have breakfast standing up in here, and I eat my tea in the lounge on the floor or on the coffee table.”

“What about when people come over?”

“They eat on the floor with me.”

“Your cooking’s so good they’re prepared to eat it anywhere?” Craig smiles.

“Yes. My cooking is very good,” he says with a twang of pride.

Craig wanders out to the lounge. He looks at the books, the cds, the cushions. It’s so cosy, he thinks to himself. It’s really lovely. Definitely an organised poof, he decides.

He sits down on the couch and sees the Lonely Planet for Scotland, and a sheath of information about Edinburgh University Luke has downloaded from the internet.

He wanders back into the small kitchen and leans casually against the doorframe.

“You thinking of doing the social work course at Edinburgh?” he asks Luke.

Luke stops chopping. He shrugs slightly, and feels very stupid.

“Oh, you know, I was just looking…”

Craig moves over to stand near where Luke is reducing the capsicum to strips, acting uninterested but in fact hugely curious. Don’t be frightened of me, darling.

“It’s supposed to be a great course. What area are you interested in?”

“Well, prisoners, welfare of prisoners,” Luke answers, turning slightly to check the look on Craig’s face. Luke relaxes a little when he sees he is listening closely. “I don’t know, I got interested in the way so many of them end up back inside so quick, and I guess I’m interested in things like violence in prisons, that kind of thing.” He starts chopping again.

Craig nods. “It’s a hard one. There’s been some really interesting studies on violence in prisons.” He stops, watching Luke push the red pieces together with the blade of the knife. “You’d be a good social worker,” he adds, as if it were an afterthought.

Luke looks up at him quickly.

“D’you think?”

“Yeah. I think you’d be very good.” Craig catches the look on Luke’s face and steps in quick. “And that’s not to say I don’t think you’re a good copper! I do. But I think you’d be a good social worker too.”

Luke smiles, but doesn’t answer.

***********************

“This is delicious,” Craig says from his place on the floor. “I didn’t know you could do this with cous cous.”

“I can do anything with cous cous,” Luke says confidently. “I cooked with it on and off for two years.”

“You miss Africa?” Craig asks. He’s always wanted to find out more about this.

“I miss some of it, but I don’t miss what I was doing.” He looks up from his food. “It was really draining. If you’re stuck in a civil war, you just have to get used to people dying in agony every day, people are hungry and they’ll do anything to get food – and then there are the guys who want to kill you, and there lots of them. It’s chaos, and you have to plan major medical operations around it.”

“That’s what a logistician does?”

Luke nods. “Basically co-ordinates everything - where you’re going, why you’re going there, how to get there, if there’s enough clean dressings, and sometimes you end up working with the doctors, you know, washing patients, changing their dressings, that kind of thing. You see some horrible things, and you just have to get used it. But,” he adds hastily, “You see some great things too. You meet people who’ve got nothing and who have lived through the most terrible things and still they’re talking and laughing. And it’s beautiful country. I miss those kinds of things.”

“You think you’ll go back?”

Luke shakes his head. “Not with MSF. I think sometimes it would be interesting to go back as a tourist, but there are other places I’d rather go first. I’ve never been to Paris or Italy, you know.”

Craig looks surprised.

Luke asks him, “Have you?”

“Yeah, I’ve been Paris a few times, and Italy twice.”

“What’s Italy like?”

“Gorgeous. I loved it.”

“Were you in Rome both times?”

“Rome the first time, Florence the second.”

Luke’s curiosity gets the better of his courtesy. “Who’d you go with?”

“Rome with Patrick – lover before Sean – and Florence with Jenny.”

Luke calculates this slowly. How many before Sean? Come to think of it, how many since?

“That’s a very small fish,” Craig says while Luke is still adding up.

“Huh?”

Craig nods over towards the little fish tank, where the small violent Siamese Fighting Fish hovers, waiting for a reason to fight.

“It’s a Siamese Fighting Fish,” Luke says proudly.

Craig looks unconvinced.

“A bantamweight, by the look of it.”

“He might look small, but he’s a very good fighter,” Luke says a little defensively.

“How do you know it’s a he?” Craig asks.

Luke falters for a minute. “I just do,” he says a little indignant.

Craig guffaws lightly.

“Come on, I’ll show you,” Luke says, getting up and walking over to the tank, which he then kneels at.

Craig follows. “Does he fight you?” he asks.

“Just watch,” Luke tells him. He then holds the small mirror up against the tank. Craig is kneeling next to Luke, waiting.

The Siamese Fighting Fish takes a few seconds to notice its reflection. When it does, it starts thrashing about and bumping against the edge of the tank, desperate to shred what it assumes is another fish.

Craig’s eyebrows shoot up. He’s very impressed.

“What, it does that to all fish?”

“Yep. That’s why I can’t get him a mate. He’d eat it.”

“How do they breed then?” Craig wonders.

Luke has never considered this. “Quickly, I guess,” he decides.

“So if you put another fish in there, he’d beat it up?”

“Well, he’d kill it.”

“It might be a female,” Craig says.

“No,” Luke says firmly. “It’s a male.”

“How do you know?” Craig teases.

Luke is trying to hold an informed expression, but smiles despite himself. “I just do, alright?”

“What’s his name?” Craig asks.

Luke hesitates for a minute. He doesn’t want to look foolish.

“Tyson?” Craig guesses.

“Tom Yum,” Luke says, a little quietly. Craig laughs again.

“Oh, well, then it’s definitely a male.”

They kneel a little longer, watching the savage little fish relax again after Luke puts the mirror out of its sight.

They then realise how close they are, and wonder what they should do.

Luke almost says something, and then thinks the better of it. “You want coffee?” he says nicely, getting up to take the plates to the kitchen. “I can’t offer you dessert because I haven’t got any, but I DO have some of my mother’s excellent brownies.”

“Thank you. I’d love a cup of coffee. And I would love to sample your mother’s brownies.” Then Craig remembers his manners. “I’ll help you with the plates.”

Chapter 34  
End of the line

They sit on Luke’s clean floor and talk for hours.

They lounge around, lean on cushions, moving their bodies into more comfortable positions every so often, but never touching.

It’s nice, they both think in different ways.

He’s a bit more relaxed, thinks Luke, he’s opened up a bit.

He’s a bit more thoughtful, thinks Craig, he’s grown up a bit.

****************************

“So Amelia is like your assistant?”

“Sort of. She still does normal relief work from time to time, but she’s been there so long, she remembers just about every case I have to go through.”

“Is she nice?” Luke is lying on his side, propped up on an elbow. Craig is lying on his belly, leaning up on his folded arms , his comfort assisted by one of Luke’s cushions.

“Yeah, she’s great. Really funny. We get on really well,” Craig says with a broad smile.

Luke looks at him curiously.

“What?” Craig asks.

“Well, you never, you know, it’s just that….,”

“What?”

“It’s just that I never saw you, I mean, you were never really mates with anyone at Sun Hill,” he says carefully. “No offence.”

“No, you’re right,” Craig says evenly. “It’s just a bit different at Central. Different kind of relief.”

“How?”

Craig thinks for a minute. “They’re easy going. Not as wound up about everything.”

 

“You seem like you’re really happy there,” Luke says.

“I am,” Craig agrees. “I really am.”

**************************

“So did many people go?” Craig asks Luke as they discuss Matt Boyden’s funeral.

“Yeah, it was pretty crowded,” he answers. “Lots of women. I thought you might have gone.”

Craig shakes his head. “No disrespect, but Matt and I were never close. I don’t think he would have wanted me there.”

Luke thinks Craig is being very diplomatic.

“He gave you a pretty hard time, didn’t he?” Luke asks, still propped up on his elbow, his head dipped slightly to one side.

Craig shrugs, and shifts a little. “I’ve had worse.” He stretches his back a little. Luke looks briefly at the breadth of his shoulders, and looks back to his face before he’s caught. “You got on with him okay, though, didn’t you?”

“I never really liked him,” Luke admits. “He was pretty sleazy. Still, he did me a favour, dying when he did.”

Craig looks at him, questioning.

“Well, I came out just a day or so before. Took everybody’s mind off it. By the time they finished talking about Boyden, I was old news.”

“How’d you come out?”

“I pinned a notice on the board in the locker room,” Luke grins, and Craig laughs with him. “No, I just told Tony and Reg, they told Gary, and Kerry obviously knew, so it got around pretty quick.”

“Brave,” Craig says with genuine admiration.

Luke shrugs. “Common sense, really.” He thinks for a moment. “How’d you do it?”

“I was never really in the closet,” Craig replies after a few seconds. “I mean, from the time I started, I was just always up front about it, you know, if people asked me if I had a girlfriend or whatever….,” he pauses, and moves around a bit. “Like you said, it gets around pretty quickly. I never had a problem with it, really.”

“But you must have got a lot of flak, like when you were a probationer.”

“Yeah, but you get used to it. I mean, it was their problem, not mine. You just get used to people not liking you and you learn to work around it.”

“Were they as bad as Matt?”

“I’ve had worse. Just after I came off probation I had a Sergeant tell me he would personally assure that I’d never get past PC.” Craig half smiles at the memory.

Luke’s eyes are wide. “Whaddya say?”

“Nothing. Proved him wrong,” Craig answered with quiet pride. “Actually, Matt was the worst I’d had in a long time,” Craig admits. 

“Didn’t you send him flowers?” Luke asks, smiling.

Craig laughs a little, remembering the look on Matt’s face. “I’d forgotten about that.” After a few seconds, Craig’s curiousity gets the better of him. “How’d Kerry take it, when you came out?”

Luke closes his eyes for a second. “Pretty bad. It was horrible. She threatened,” he stops for a minute, wondering if he should go on. He looks up at Craig, and is filled with trust when he sees Craig’s face. “She threatened to have an abortion. Then she miscarried a few days later. It was the worst time.”

“You must have been pretty upset.”

Luke turns this over before he answers. How much should I say, he wonders. “It was a pretty bad time. I was upset about a lot of things. It’s all like a blur now,” he says quietly.

********************************

 

Inch by inch, word by word, the conversation becomes a little more personal, the body language a little more subtle. Luke has fetched a couple of bottles of beer, and they are now sitting up, still with a fair bit of distance between eachother, but relaxed and easy.

“So do you still see the press officer guy?” Luke asks after he has answered Craig’s questions about John the solicitor.

“Rupert? God no, that was ages ago. Almost a year ago. I’d forgotten about him.”

“So who came after Rupert?” Luke over-pronounces Rupert’s name just a touch, thus making his feelings about Rupert quite clear.

Craig’s face grows a little sad.

“I started seeing a guy called Ned,” he says shortly.

“And how’s he?”

How to say it. “He killed himself a few months ago,” he says, looking at his beer.

Luke winces. “Sorry, I’m really sorry,”

“No, no, we’d broken up months before. He was seeing someone else when he did it. He was just really unstable. Don’t be sorry.”

“Who broke it off?”

“I did. It was a pretty dysfunctional relationship.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve all had those,” Luke answers.

Craig says nothing, but looks at him with understanding eyes.

************************

“I’d really like to do it, but I just don’t know if I could,” Luke says as they discuss Edinburgh and the social work course. They’re lying down again, fascinated by one another.

“So do you think you’ll apply?”

Luke rubs his chin absently as he thinks about this.

“Maybe. I haven’t really thought it through yet,” he lies.

“Looks to me as if you’ve researched it pretty thoroughly,” Craig says.

Luke shrugs, mindful of looking foolish.

“I never even thought about going to college ‘til now,” he says, a little embarrassed. “I mean, I’m hardly what you’d call…,” He’s not sure what you’d call it.

“Well, you don’t have to be a brilliant academic to get a degree,” Craig answers, helping him out.

“It helps!” Luke says quickly. “I don’t even know many people who went to university. Anyway, I don’t know if I’ll even do it yet,” he says, and then something occurs to him. “You won’t tell Gina, will you?”

Craig shakes his head. “Nope. Not a word.” He steps around the topic delicately. “What got you interested in it?”

Luke lies back down, and hitches himself up on his elbows. He thinks carefully for a few seconds.

“I’m interested in violence in prisons,” he says, not quite looking at Craig. “I just got reading on the net about rape, you know, male rape, and the high rates of it in prisons. There’s not much help inside or out, and some guys …you know, they can be there ten years, and have to go through it every day. They have to see the guy who attacks them every day. No one does anything about it, some prisons don’t even give out condoms, it’s just…not many people work in the area. I thought I might be able to do something, you know, for the guys when they come out.” He stops, still not looking at Craig.

It’s a pity, because Craig is staring at him with enormous admiration. Just like you, he thinks, your amazing courage. Anybody else would clam up and die after what happened to you, but you take it and work with it, go back and revisit it to save other people.

“I think you’re really brave,” Craig says, and straight away he realises that might not have been the best response.

Luke looks up at him sharply and studies his face. They’re silent for a bit, and this time Craig looks down. He’s just about to make a generic comment about studying when Luke gets in first.

“You know, don’t you. Gina told you.”

Craig is about to lie, but when he looks at Luke face he knows there’s no point. He checks anyway.

“Know what?”

Luke doesn’t say anything, just looks at him.

Craig nods. 

And then they’re silent for bit more.

Craig doesn’t know what to say. Luke gives him no clues, just lays there silently, looking at the floor.

“I talk to her a lot,” Craig says finally. “I ask about you from time to time. She was really worried about you, and she made me promise.”

“I don’t care that you know,” Luke says suddenly. “I mean, I don’t care that she told you. I just, I wish I didn’t know that you knew,” He closes his eyes and gathers his thoughts.

“Why?”

Luke sits up abruptly and leans back against the couch. He seems as dense and tightly packed as steel wool. 

“What you said, when I saw you before you left, the things you said that I’d become.” Craig opens his mouth to interrupt, but Luke keeps talking.  
“A slutty queen, a trumped up slut,” he can’t finish that one. “Everything you hate in a man.” He stops again, his face creasing with pain. “I just didn’t want you to know I’d become all those things.” He tightens his mouth a little, and then laughs self deprecatingly. “Even though I had, I just hoped you wouldn’t find out.”

 

Craig is mortified. He doesn’t know where to begin.

“God, Luke,” Craig sits up and runs his hand over his hair, upset. “Look, I had no right to say those things to you, I wished I never had…,” he stops, wondering how he could take it back. “I was, I was really sick, and it’d been pretty hard, you know that, I just wanted you to go away. I didn’t mean those things, and I swear to you that I wished afterwards I’d never said them.”

He looks at Luke, and wonders where to take it.

“I don’t think that because someone brutalised you that there’s something cheap and nasty about you. I was really..,” Craig catches himself in time, “I thought about calling you when I heard, I thought you might want..,” It’s not getting easier. “If you’d called, I would have done anything I could have to help you.”

“I know that,” Luke says plainly. “But that’s not it. I just didn’t want you to know what I’d become.”

Craig tries to sort through it again.

“You haven’t become anything,’ Craig tells him, leaning over slightly, his face intense. “Somebody hurt you. You didn’t make a conscious decision to become something.” He‘s waiting for a response, but Luke is looking a little distant. Craig makes another attempt.

“What does it matter what I think anyway? Not that you’ve become anything like I said, but who gives a damn what I think?”

“I still love you,” Luke says baldly.

May as well say it now I’ve hit rock bottom, Luke thinks. Nothing else can go wrong now. “I care what you think.”

Craig overflows with confusion and fear but just stares him. He can’t believe his ears.

“I do. Love you, I mean. There, I’ve said it.” He looks over at Craig with misery in his eyes. “I guess that’s the end of a pleasant evening,” he says sullenly.

Craig is still dumbstruck. He lies down, and then rolls onto his back, tucking the cushion behind his head. He’s still trying to sort it out, but it’s as if part of his brain has seized up.

“Have you passed out?” Luke asks after a couple of minutes.

Craig laughs despite himself.

“No, I’m just a bit stunned,” he says honestly.

Luke considers this.

“I understand if you want to go. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Craig lies there, staring at the ceiling. Well, what do you know, he thinks.

After a few minutes he looks at the small luminous clock on Luke’s stereo. It’s two twenty-five am.

“It’s late,” he says to Luke.

“Uh –uh,” Luke answers. “Look, it’s fine if you want to go. I understand.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Luke wonders about this. Meanwhile Craig expects his marching orders any minute.

“Can we talk?” Luke says presently.

Craig stretches his neck and looks over at Luke.

“Sure. We can talk.”

And then they are silent for another few minutes. 

“Did you mean, talk to each other?” Craig ventures into the silence.

Luke laughs. “Yeah.”

“Well, talk to me.”

Luke sits there rigid, so Craig, who is phenomenally patient, tries another tactic.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks Luke.

Luke wonders about this briefly. “Yeah. Yeah I do.” And still he sits there.

“Come over here,” Craig says kindly. “Bring that rug with you.”

Luke does as he’s told, and lies down on the floor, on his belly, next to Craig, who rolls from his back onto his side. He sits up a little, supported on his elbow, and wonders how to kick start Luke on this hideous topic.

“You must have been scared,” Craig says.

Luke nods in agreement, and then, for the first and last time in his life, he recounts every last detail of the attack. Craig listens gravely, and then, when it gets awful, holds him quiet and firm, right up until the story is finished and Luke racks with wet heaving sobs. 

When he has finished, Luke is sniffing, wet and gluggy, against Craig’s chest, the heat of his skin and his scent through his clothes suddenly all over Luke. Craig very briefly rests his chin on the top of Luke’s head, closing his eyes for a second as he drinks in the fragrant warmth of him. Christ help me, Craig thinks.

Luke keeps his damp streaming face pushed up against Craig’s heart. He can hear the blood being pumped through Craig’s body in a slow rhythmic gush. The sound is soothing for a moment, and then inflames Luke’s misery further with more wet sniffs. Just pity, thinks Luke. That’s all he has left for me. The tears rise up again.

“Hang on a tick,” Craig says, getting up and heading for his bag.

When he sits back down next to Luke, Craig has a clean tshirt in his hand. He wipes Luke’s face a little, and lets Luke blow his nose on the garment.

“I don’t have any hankies,” Craig says gently.

Luke snuffles a little and gives him a small smile. Craig looks back at the clock.

“It’s nearly three o’clock,” he says. “Do you want to go to bed?”

Luke looks at him confused.

“I’ll sleep out here,” Craig adds quickly.

Luke shakes his head. “You can sleep in the bed. I can sleep out here”, he says with a soft voice. Luke is struck with intense sadness that Craig doesn’t even consider sharing a bed with him an option anymore.

“Don’t be silly. I’ll sleep out here. Come on. I’ll tuck you in.”

“Tall people hate the couch,” Luke says.

Craig shrugs. “I’ll sleep on the floor. Come on.”

 

Craig is standing at the small window, staring down on to the street, and pays no attention when Luke comes into the bedroom from the bathroom, stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers. Craig’s thinking.

“Look, you can sleep in here too. I promise I won’t lay a hand on you,” Luke says as he sits on the edge of the bed.

Craig turns around, arms folded across his chest. He’s deep in thought, and seems almost surprised to see Luke in the room with him.

“I know,” he says, thinking.

“You’ll be sore all over if you sleep on the floor,” Luke says. Could I sound any more desperate, Luke wonders privately.

Craig looks at him, and then looks back out the window. He thinks a bit more.

After a few minutes he turns around to see Luke, still sitting in the same position.

Craig’s not sure what to say, but he is certain he doesn’t want to sleep on the floor or couch.

“I’m going to brush my teeth,” is the best he can do. Luke nods.

A few minutes later Craig comes back in, also in his smalls, to see Luke still sitting on the bed.

“I will sleep in here, if you don’t mind,” Craig says, completely detached. He’s tired but his thoughts are whirring like fruit in a blender.

“You’ll be more comfortable,” Luke says. He is looking at Craig’s legs.

Craig nods, and flicks off the light. He makes his way around the other side of Luke’s bed, guided by the white lights from the street outside.

Luke still sits on the edge of the bed, and waits until Craig has settled in until he creeps under the covers himself. He keeps his back to Craig, and lies there exhausted for a few seconds before it occurs to him how completely strange and horrible this is. Karma, Luke thinks. Now I know how he felt.

“Good night,” Craig says suddenly, and a little formally, from the other side of the bed.

“Goodnight,” Luke answers.

And they both lie there awake, silent in the dark, backs to eachother, for ages.

Craig thinks some more.

 

A couple of hours later Luke wakes and sits bolt upright, shaking and sweating.

It takes him a few seconds to remember what’s happening.

Craig, barely awake, moves over towards him a little, stretching his arm to him.

“What?” he says with a sleepy mouth, his tongue thick and dry.

Luke doesn’t know and sits there, shaking, terrified.

“Come here.” Craig, half asleep, gently puts Luke against his chest. “I won’t let anything hurt you,” he tells him drowsily, mindlessly stroking Luke’s damp back until he falls back to sleep.

 

Just before six, Craig wakes this time, wondering where the hell he is. For a small second he thinks he’s at Ned’s place. He remembers that can’t be right, and looks down to see the outline of Luke draped across him, mouth open and breathing shallow.

“Hello darling,” Craig whispers, closing his eyes again.

After a few minutes Craig moves gently to make his way to the bathroom. Luke wakes up suddenly and, not awake and not asleep, frantically grips Craig’s hip.

“Where are you going?” he asks urgently.

Craig leans over him and gently sets him back down.

“Bathroom,” he says.

Luke still hasn’t let go. “Are you coming back?”

Craig laughs when he realises Luke is still more than half asleep.

“I’m not sleeping in the tub,” he whispers. Luke is still wide-eyed and unclear. “Yes I’m coming back,” Craig clarifies.

Luke relaxes and slumps back down.

Craig returns to the bed in the shadows of the dark November morning. When he climbs back in Luke has rolled over to the other side.

 

Weak wintry light has filled the room when Luke wakes up properly, just after eight o’ clock. As he gathers his wits he wonders whom he is lying next to then catches the scent first, and knows straight away who it is.

Craig is sound asleep on his back, one hand flung above his head, the other resting on his chest. His breathing is light and noiseless.

Luke rolls to his side and, keeping a safe distance, lies and stares at Craig, from his hairline, down his profile, the curve of his jaw, the line of his throat.

As Luke covets, the contents of the previous night comes back to him in piece by piece, and his shame mounts as he remembers the things he said and the way he howled.

Doomed, he thinks. Would have been better if I never saw him again. At least he’d still have respect for me.

He’s looking at the pale skin on the underside of Craig’s outstretched arm, cursing his own ineptitude, when Craig starts shifting.

“Morning,” Luke says dully as Craig blinks at him.

Craig looks at him with a sleepy interested smile, but says nothing. He then stretches his body to its full length, and Luke is reminded briefly of lions he’s seen in nature reserves in Africa.

“I’ll make you some breakfast,” Luke says, resigned.

“That’d be nice,” Craig says quietly, eyes closed.

“Do you want to stand up in the kitchen, or have it here?” Luke asks. Yeah, right, he thinks immediately. Breakfast in bed. As if.

Craig, never the most astute person in the morning, takes a while to respond.

“Kitchen’s fine,” he says at last. He sits up a little, looking as if he is still not entirely sure where he is. “I’m going to have a shower,” he decides.

Luke looks him over with shy wary eyes as Craig slowly moves out of the bed, his heart filled again with regret and longing.

“I’ll make breakfast,” Luke says again.

 

Craig is po-faced when Luke tells him what’s in the cereal bowl.

“No, really, you’ll really like it,” Luke promises.

They are standing in Luke’s kitchen. Craig is showered and dressed and shining like a conker, Luke is wearing old trackies and a battered cotton sweater. He has decided it doesn’t matter how he looks anymore. 

He’s cute even when he’s dishevelled, Craig thinks.

He takes a cautious taste of his breakfast and sees Luke watching as he savours the cereal slowly. His face changes.

Good,” Craig says, taking another more generous spoonful, “Very good.”

Luke has made more cous cous, but this time he’s boiled it with sultanas, and served it with warm milk and a small scattering of cinnamon sugar. It is a remarkably comforting breakfast food on cold weekends, he believes. Luke currently needs all the comfort he can get.

They eat in silence. Luke has nothing to say about anything much anymore, and Craig is still thinking. It is odd, but neither of them find this silence awkward.

“That was really nice,” Craig says graciously when he has finished. “I really enjoyed that.” He did too. He takes the coffee Luke has set down near the sink beside him and takes a small sip. “Real coffee,” he smiles.

“It all happens here,” Luke tells him.

“Nice mug,” Craig says.

“Thanks,” Luke says.

Luke is opposite Craig, standing on the other side of the small kitchen, looking out of his window, thinking how entirely awful this whole weekend has been. He hasn’t yet worked out how he might go about getting over it; the task of gathering his pride and heart seems insurmountable. I’ll have a shower and do the laundry, he decides, and the idea of restoring a bit of order to his life brings him a little relief.

Craig watches him, still thinking. He still hasn’t got anything to say.

“Do you want more coffee?” Luke says a few minutes later.

“I should get going,” Craig says, still thinking.

Luke’s heart sinks. All I ever do with you is say goodbye, he realises with misery.

Craig rinses his nice mug, and leaves it draining on the side of the sink. He then walks over and picks up his bag. Luke feels he should say something, anything, and walks over to open the door for him.

“Sorry about last night,” Luke says finally.

Craig looks at him carefully. He’s still thinking.

“Don’t be. You okay?”

Luke looks at him with a “Yeah, sure,” look on his face.

“I’m alright,” he lies. “Don’t worry, I won’t start crying again until after you’ve gone.” He gives Craig a sad little smile.

Craig looks at him with compassion. “Don’t cry,” he says to him. “It’s not that bad.”

Not for you, thinks Luke, who says nothing. Oh well, best get it over with.

“Thanks for the lift home,” Luke smiles.

“Thanks for dinner and breakfast,” Craig smiles back. He’s looking closely at Luke’s face, assessing the sadness. Craig adds Luke’s sadness to his thoughts.

“Drive safely,” is the only thing Luke can think to say to him. Just go, he thinks morosely. Tears are starting to burn in the rims of his eyes, and he is hoping to have this lot in solitude.

“I will,” Craig smiles. He wonders whether he should hug him, but Luke is standing stiff and defensive, his arms strapped tight across his chest. So instead Craig rests his warm hand on one side of Luke’s gorgeous sad face for a brief second, and gently strokes his cheek with his thumb just once. It brings the tears a little closer.

“Take care,” Craig says with a soft voice.

“Bye,” says Luke.

Craig looks at him a second more, still thinking, and then walks out the door, closing it gently behind him.

Chapter 35  
But you can always go another way

Luke stands in the shower for ten minutes, covered in thick clouds of foam, crying without inhibition as his heart continues to break.

He continues to cry as he rinses himself in streams of hot clear water.

Tears are still pouring down his face as he dries himself of on the same towel Craig used.

He is sort of hiccoughing a little as he dresses, and as he straightens the bed, he remembers that the bed will smell of Craig. He can’t bear the idea of burying his face in amongst the scented sheets now, but it might be a nice thing tonight.

I don’t have any hankies either, Luke thinks as he stand near the now-neat bed with a streaming face, and then he spies the tshirt Craig gave him last night in a soft crumpled ball on the floor. Last night’s misery has dried and left the garment a little stiff, but Luke finds a clean spot and wipes his face.

He walks out to the kitchen with the tshirt to make another cup of coffee. He tucks a bit of the large tshirt in one of the pockets of his jeans, his eyes and nose red and damp.

Well, at least the worst is over, he thinks as the machines hisses water through the ground beans. Could’ve been even worse. He could have left me in that horrible café, and then I would have cried all the way home on the bus.

Luke is pondering how nice Craig was to him. He wonders if he would have been as nice if the situation was reversed.

Hard to say, he muses as he stands in the kitchen, drinking from the mug Craig rinsed twenty-five minutes ago. He pulls the tshirt from his pocket and wipes his face again.

There’s a knock on the door. Luke jumps and slops his coffee slightly, then stands perfectly still until they go away.

They knock again. Luke silently sips his coffee. Go away, he thinks.

They knock a third time, and Luke puts his mug down.

He opens the door with the tshirt in his hand.

“Can I come in?” Craig is standing at the door, still with his bag in his hand.

Luke stares at him with scarlet trimmed eyes.

“Did you come back for this?” he asks, holding up the now rather unpleasant tshirt.

Craig looks at the tshirt with a little apprehension.

“No.”

Luke is confused.

“Can I come in?” Craig asks again.

“Sorry,” Luke says, realising that he being vague. He opens the door and stands back.

Craig walks in a short way and puts his bag down. He is standing in almost the exact same place where he said goodbye a short time ago.

Luke becomes aware that his face is red raw from crying. You think it can’t get worse and then it does, he thinks bitterly. He leans against the wall, wondering what will happen now.

Craig looks at the sad face and smiles wanly.

“What?” Luke asks. He has no idea what is going on.

Craig runs his tongue briefly along his bottom lip, hesitant, and then looks straight into Luke’s wet eyes.

“I still love you, too,” is all he says.

Luke lifts his eyes and stares at Craig with quiet disbelief. He then scratches his temple slowly, clutching the tshirt in his other hand.

“That’s it. I don’t know what else to do,” Craig says after a few seconds.

“Where did you go when you left?” Luke asks. It is all a bit much.

“I sat out on the landing,” Craig answers. “I think one of your neighbours is dealing drugs,” he adds.

“Oh, I’m certain of it,” Luke agrees. “The blonde guy.”

“You should arrest him,” Craig suggests.

“Now?” Luke asks.

“Well, not now,” Craig falters. His hands feel unsteady.

“I have to live here,” Luke says, a little confused.

“Do you want me to arrest him?”

“Now?” Luke asks again.

Craig shakes his head slightly. His legs don’t feel very steady either.

“Forget about him,” Craig says.

Well, you brought him up, Luke is about to say, and then he remembers that Craig has just told him that he loves him. His face grows stern in concentration as he turns this over. Craig watches him. He has finished his thinking.

“Well?” Craig says after a bit.

Luke looks up at him, a little surprised.

“I was just going to do my laundry,” is all he can think to say.

Craig is still fairly confused too. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Luke stares at him hard, his face still intense. “The laundry’s open until ten tonight,” he answers.

“Oh, good,” Craig says absently.

They stand there for a few more seconds.

“Do you have much?” Craig wonders.

“Laundry?”

Craig nods.

Luke considers this. He’s not really sure what constitutes much. He is assessing the volume of his laundry, looking deeply into Craig’s eyes.

“A bit,” Luke decides.

“Well, may as well get it out of the way,” Craig says, his eyes not leaving Luke’s.

“May as well,” Luke agrees.

So Luke gets his laundry, mercifully he includes the tear stained tshirt, and the two of them make their way to the local laundromat.

(“I wished I’d been there,” Jenny says to Craig when he recounts this to her a few days later. “I’d have banged your bloody heads together.”)

“It’s nice around here,” Craig says, half convinced, as they walk through the edge of Sun Hill to the local laundry.

“I like it,” Luke answers, no more convincing.

“You ever been to Brighton?” Craig wonders as they stop at the lights at the main road.

“No. Never. I’ve seen pictures though. It looks nice,” Luke tells him.

“It is. Very pretty.”

“You live near the water?”

Craig nods. “Yeah, but just out of the town centre. You can see the water from my lounge.”

Views of the ocean are big deal to a boy from the housing projects in South London. “Water views?” Luke says, smiling. “Very posh.”

Craig shrugs a little. “I don’t live in the posh area, though,” he assures Luke. “It’s fairly suburban.”

“But it sounds nice anyway.”

They walk along, silent for a bit.

“You should come and see it, you know, if you’ve never been to Brighton,” Craig suggests.

Luke nods. “That’s be good.” He mulls this over for a few seconds. Does he mean stay with him, or stay in town and visit him? Should I check?

“You could meet Peggy,” Craig adds.

Luke smiles up at him. The thought of meeting someone’s cat has never seemed so appealing.

“Here,” says Luke, when they arrive at the laundry a few minutes later. “I won’t be long.”

Craig walks over to the real estate window next door and checks the local market as he waits for Luke.

“I don’t know how people afford to buy in London,’ Craig says when Luke returns a few minutes later.

“I know. It’s expensive.” Luke is looking at the splashcard for a two bedroom flat as he stands alongside to Craig. “I mean, 278,000 quid for a place in Lewisham,” he says. 

“Hmm,” Craig says. He was looking at the same place. “Still, it looks nice. It’s got a garden.”

They stare in the window for a little longer, side by side, not looking at each other.

“I usually go and get my groceries when I put my laundry in,” Luke says, and while he speaks he slyly slips his hand into Craig’s and strokes the palm with his third and fourth finger very softly. “By the time I get back my laundry’s done, and I can take it home.”

“Where do you get your groceries?” Craig asks, lightly closing his fingers around Luke’s and squeezing them gently. His heart is racing.

Luke takes a deep breath. “It’s a bit of a walk, through Canley common. It takes about forty minutes each way.” He presses his fingers against Craig’s slowly.

“It’s a nice day for a walk,” Craig says, stroking the tips of Luke’s fingers with his own. “D’you mind if I come?” he asks. They are still not looking at eachother.

“Sure. You can help me carry it,” Luke says, locking his fingers through Craig’s for a brief second, and then taking his hand away as they start walking again.

“I’d forgotten about this place,” Craig says as they walk up the path into the main part of the common.

“I must come here three or four times a week,” Luke says.

“Is this what you do every Sunday?” Craig asks, noticing that two or three excited squirrels are following them.

“When I’m not working,” Luke tells him. “I go to the markets a bit too.”

“The fruit market?”

“No, Camden markets.”

“That’s right, Jenny saw you there. I didn’t know you liked flea markets,” Craig says.

“Yeah, I do. I like Camden. I have breakfast there sometimes too.”

“I like café breakfasts,” Craig remarks.

“I like breakfasts that I don’t have to cook. There’s nothing like a good fry-up that someone else has made.”

“True. Fry-ups are great. So’s your cous cous breakfast,” Craig tells him, watching the squirrels run ahead of them. “Friends of yours?” he asks.

“Never seen them before in my life,” Luke answers. “Wouldn’t have thought you’d be the fry-up type.”

“I have to be in the mood,” Craig says. “Do you have cous cous for breakfast everyday?”

“No. Weekends. Usually I have toast.” Luke omits the Marmite it because it doesn’t seem very grown up. “What do you have?”

“Same. Toast. Marmalade. Coffee.”

“Marmalade?”

“I’m very partial to marmalade,” Craig tells him.

Luke isn’t surprised. “Ever have anything else on your toast?”

Craig shakes his head. “What do you have on yours?”

Oh, what the hell. “Marmite,” he says with all the confidence he can muster.

“Mmm. Marmite on toast is good hangover food.”

Luke has never considered Marmite’s medicinal qualities, and is impressed that Craig has.

“I’ll remember that,” he says.

“This is a nice walk,” Craig remarks a little later as they cross the rise of the park that looks over the nicer bits of South London.

“Hmm. You’d have some nice walks in Brighton.”

“Yeah. I like to walk home from the town to my place. You have to walk right along the coast.”

“How long does that take you?”

“About an hour. Good cardio-vascular.” Craig remembers something. “There’s a flea market on in Aldwick in a couple of weeks time. I’m taking Lilly..,”

“Who’s Lilly?” Luke asks quickly.

“Kid up the road from me who feeds Peg when I’m away,” Craig explains just as quickly.

“Why are you taking her to a flea market?”

Craig isn’t entirely sure now he thinks about it. “She likes them,” he says. “She’s only fifteen. She doesn’t drive yet.” He looks across at Luke for the first time in ages. “Anyway, I said I’d take her to the next one in a couple of weeks’ time. You could come, if you wanted to.”

Luke nods, smiling. Our first date! “I’d really like to go. Thanks.” Where the hell is Aldwick? he wonders.

Craig smiles at him. “It’s huge.”

“Is it far?” Luke wonders.

“Not far from Brighton,” Craig says. He hesitates a moment, and then adds, “You could stay the weekend, if you wanted to.”

“I’d like that,” Luke beams at him. Oh, I love you.

I’ll cook, Craig thinks happily. Feed him. Bliss.

 

Presently they arrive at the Sainsbury’s where Luke likes to get his groceries.

“I could look at cheeses all day,” he says to Craig as they stand in front of the dairy cabinet.

(“CHEESE?” Jenny Gilmore shrieks at her brother when he continues the story a few days later. “You’re BOTH pathetic. You DESERVE eachother.”)

“Are you a ripe cheese man or a mature cheese man?” Craig asks, and he moves his hand over and tenderly strokes the frail skin of Luke’s wrist.

“That’s a hard one,” Luke says, his fingers responding, stroking Craig’s knuckles. “I really like brie and blue veins, but I’m a sucker for good cheddar too. What about you?”

“Definitely a ripe cheese man. I love Camembert, and I love really ripe blues.” He caresses the mound of Luke’s wrist bone for a brief moment.

They consider cheese for a moment, and then Luke leans in a tiny bit against Craig, still stroking his hand.

“D’you want some lunch when we get back?”

Craig nods, as if he's not fussed. “Okay,” is all he says, gently compressing the pads of Luke’s palm with his fingers before releasing it.

************************

They are standing in Luke’s kitchen in exactly the same places where they had breakfast this morning. The clean washing has been put away, the groceries have been stacked and there is not much else they can do to avoid talking about it.

They look at eachother across the small kitchen for a few seconds.

My gorgeous boy, Craig thinks.

Sarge, Luke thinks.

Luke breaks the silence.

“Do you still love me?” he asks.

“Yep,” Craig tells him. “Do you still love me?”

“Definitely,” Luke answers.

“This is weird,” Luke says presently.

Craig nods. “I thought about it all last night and this morning,” he says seriously. “Thinking about telling you since last night. I just kept thinking that I wouldn’t know what to do when I told you, and I couldn’t work out why.” He stops and swallows. “I’ve worked out why this morning,” he says, sounding pleased.

“Why?” Luke is genuinely interested. He would really like to know why neither of them have a clue what to do know now that they’ve admitted they are still in love with eachother.

“Well, we’ve never had any choice before. I was your boss, I was seeing someone, you weren’t sure, then you were seeing someone, then you got married, then I moved away, then I thought you forgot about me, you probably thought I forgot about you – you know, it didn’t matter if one of us was in love with the other. We couldn’t do anything.”

“Now we can,” Luke says, understanding.

Craig nods. “Now we can.”

And they both stand there doing nothing.

“What should we do?” Luke asks him.

Craig smiles at him.

“Well, I didn’t work that bit out. What do you want to do?”

“Want to sit down?” Luke suggests.

Craig nods, and Luke follows him to the couch. They stand for a couple of seconds to see who sits where.

“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Craig says.

“You wouldn’t think it would be,” Luke agrees. He decides to sit on the floor, leaning back on the couch. Craig sits next to him.

“So you haven’t worked out what we should do?” Luke checks.

Craig shakes his head. They are sitting close, side by side, arms touching. “I really haven’t got a clue.” He bites his bottom lip. “Have you?”

Luke thinks for minute. “Well, I’ve only just found out really. You’ve been sitting on it for hours. I haven’t got the foggiest.” Then he remembers that Craig loves him and he beams.

“What?” Craig asks, looking at him smile. My gorgeous boy.

“Well, it’s pretty good, isn’t it?” he says, turning to look at Craig. “I mean, I just thought I would be in love with you forever, keep hearing about all these fantastic men you were seeing, probably never have a decent relationship myself again in my life…you know, it’s a pretty good outcome.” His smile is guileless, completely untainted, and Craig’s heart swells.

“More than I was expecting,” Craig replies. “Much more than I was expecting. I just figured you’d forgotten about me.”

Luke shakes his head. “No. Never forgot about you.” Luke recalls his attempts to wrench Craig out of his heart. “I tried. You know,” he qualifies quickly, “I thought it was the right thing to do, since I thought you forgot about me. Didn’t work though.”

“I know what you mean,” Craig says quietly. “I just figured in the end I was stuck with it, that I just had to accept I’d love you forever, and that I’d just work out a way to live with it.”

Luke is thinking now. A thought occurs to him.

“Well, it’s funny we should run into eachother like that,” he says, and leans his head against Craig’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I thought about that,” Craig answers, and casually puts his arm around Luke, drawing him in a little closer. Luke has to concentrate on his breathing to stop himself sighing. “That’s what made me come back, I think.”

“How?” Luke asks, settling in against the warmth strength.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. And when I did I …,” He stops and gathers his thoughts. “I didn’t want to not see you again.” He can’t phrase it any more clearly.

Luke nestles in a little closer. Nicest place I’ve been in nearly two years, he thinks contentedly.

“What else did you think?” he asks, trying to manoeuvre his arms around Craig, but finding himself thwarted by the long legs.

“Here, come in here,” Craig says, and moves his leg so Luke can sit between them, and lean back against Craig’s chest. The perfect weight of him, Craig thinks.

“I thought about what we should do.” Craig continues as Luke settles against him. “You know, if we felt the same way. I thought about seeing you, which would be hard since I live in Brighton and you live in London and we work all the time. I thought about whether you’re ready for a relationship – you know, since you – since you were attacked. I don’t know how you feel about that.” Craig wraps both his arms around Luke and very lightly nuzzles the top of his head.

“I haven’t had anything since…,” he can’t actually describe what happened to him, and he folds both his arms over the top of Craig’s. “I mean, I went out cruising a couple of times, and I just got terrified and came home alone. I don’t know how far I can go, but it would be different with you.”

Luke leans his head back, looking up at him. Craig leans his face down and is suddenly overwhelmed by how much love he feels. He wants to grab Luke and maul him, yet at the same time he is full of tenderness, unable to be rough and demanding. It confuses him.

“Well, I guess we should just see how we go,” Craig almost whispers, his lips close to Luke’s neat pink ear.

“Okay,” Luke agrees, and Craig squeezes him a little tighter. God let me have you now, they’re both thinking.

 

They sit bundled up a little longer, both stubborn and shy.

“So, darling, what do you want to do?” Craig is nuzzling Luke’s face.

Luke’s heart jumps when he hears the word. He turns his face slightly to Craig’s, so close that their lips are almost touching. The heat from each other is intoxicating. Craig’s eyelids appear to get heavier.

“I always kiss you first,” Luke tells him in a low voice.

Craig sits up a bit and considers this. My office, his stag night. “You do, too,” he agrees.

“Maybe if you kiss me first it’ll stick,” Luke suggests.

“Sorry?” Craig doesn’t get it.

“I mean, both other times I kissed you first, and it was a disaster afterwards. Maybe if you kiss me first it’ll work out,” Luke explains, not looking at Craig.

“Well, that makes as much sense as anything else,” Craig agrees.

Luke, paralysed with fear and shyness, stares at his feet.

“You’re going to have to turn around a bit if you want me to kiss you,” Craig says gently. Luke still can’t look at him, but shifts slightly to face Craig. He lifts his face to Craig when he feels soft fingers at his chin.

Both their hearts are shaking.

Craig cups Luke’s face gently, touching his lips with his thumb. He wants to tell him how much he loves him, but can’t think how to explain that no one can even come close to what Luke means to him.

Luke closes his eyes, taking in the touch on his lips. He feels swollen with an odd mix of terror, love and gratitude. But do you forgive me, Luke wonders. Do you forgive me?

“Sarge,” is all he says against Craig’s thumb. 

Craig moves his face slightly and kisses Luke’s lips tenderly; Luke savours it briefly and then returns it, soft and brief. Their kisses then become more involved, but not like the rehearsal kiss they shared in the office, and not like the second urgent, desperate kisses they shared in the ugly hotel room.

He’s even better than I remember, they both think as they slowly trace the shape of eachother’s lips and taste the soft texture of eachother’s tongues. Their faces feel perfect together, completely new and completely familiar.

They wrap an arm each around eachother and steady one another’s faces with the other hand, kissing deeply and carefully, taking their time.

And there’s no doubt about it, it starts to stick.

Chapter 35 ¼  
Perfect love casts out fear

Luke and Craig skirted the important things they needed to discuss until it was no longer avoidable. The hushed intense conversation that followed the sticking kisses was full of broken sentences, badly expressed phrases, doses of gluggy trauma and some outright clumsy attempts to let each other know exactly what they meant.

In the interests of ethical story telling, their conversation is reported here as what they actually meant, instead of what they said. A translation, if you will. 

**********************

All through the quiet flat you can hear the sweet sticky sounds of their mouths meeting and tasting.

Craig is concentrating. He is torn between an overwhelming desire to consume Luke in a quick series of gulps, and the plain understanding that they’re both traversing new territory. He runs his hands over Luke’s back, along his ribs, walks his sensitive fingers over his chest as if he might find the damage that Luke still carries.

Luke takes the caresses passively, grateful to be so close and so warm in the substantial embrace. He’s trying to keep his mind clear, focusing only on the taste of Craig. Making love terrifies him still, every notion of foreplay and sex still stained with the wet sneering sound and the hard grabby touches of Alex.

As his hands move over and examine Luke, Craig can sense the tension and fear gnarled through his muscles and skin. How to relax him, or whether I should even try, Craig wonders. Meanwhile his own excitement is mounting, the thought of having Luke to himself again too arousing to contemplate.

Do you forgive me, Luke wonders still. All those things I did to you, can you forgive me?

Play with me, Craig thinks, let me have you. He kisses Luke slowly down the side of his face, gently biting the tendons of Luke’s neck. I’m not going to hurt you.

When he draws his face back Craig can feel resignation in Luke’s body and kisses, as if he is not able to participate but prepared to submit to Craig’s attentions. Not good enough, Craig thinks, and gathers the younger man in his arms, resting his cheek on the top of his head while he wonders what he’ll do.

I want to heal you, Craig thinks.

I want to heal what I did to you, Luke thinks.

Craig closes in on the shape and weight of Luke in his arms. I couldn’t love you more if I tried, he says. Luke feels the intention and it becomes oppressive, making the damage and cruelty he’s inflicted all the more obvious to him. He clamps his jaw tight, wanting to speak but every word he has appears to be checked by tears.

If I tell you how sorry I am, we’d never have time to do anything else, Luke says.

I wish I could talk to you without speaking, Craig says. I wish you could feel it without me saying it.

They sit knotted together until Craig straightens up, bringing Luke with him to sit facing him, their legs bent around each other. He sees the misery and contrition in Luke’s face. Then he feels his own, and finally - from nowhere - an overwhelming sense of what Luke did him.

He can’t speak directly to him, so he pulls Luke over and talks softly in his ear.

It’s not ever going to work if we keep thinking about what we did do or what we didn’t do or what could have been or what wasn’t, Craig tells him in not so many words. You have to accept that it’s done and gone, and you have to accept that I do too. You have to believe I forgive you and you have to forgive me, and then you have to forgive yourself.

He takes a deep breath and then holds Luke a little closer.

All I know is that I don’t want to have to go on without you. I just can’t, he whispers. He stops to take another breath, and feels the old something rattling loose deep inside him.

Just as Craig’s about to say more, it finally breaks loose and the tears charge up straight from his heart, through his throat and gush from his eyes.

Luke is astonished to find himself holding Craig, completely distraught and completely embarrassed, sobbing as his heart breaks all over again. He literally shakes against Luke, this strong man who has withstood so much. The closer Luke tries to hold him, the tighter he closes his arms around him, the harder Craig cries, the more he clings. Luke feels as helpless and grieved as if Craig lay dying in front of him. It is awful.

Luke holds the great heaving weight as firmly as he can until he feels the sobs weaken a little. Then, gently and slowly, as if he were attempting a complex surgical procedure, Luke tries to cup Craig’s face in his hand. The dark eyes are ringed with crimson, and Craig takes Luke’s gaze for a split humiliating second. It shocks Luke, bringing home to him in one final blast how badly he wounded Craig.

Sweetheart, Luke murmurs, please. Luke strokes the hot face, still streaming and gulping, trying to kiss him, trying to ease the anguish. The sound of Luke’s voice and the tender kind touches make it worse, and Craig holds Luke so hard that Luke is certain, for a few seconds at least, that his chest will crack. 

He pushes his face up against Craig’s. You have to believe me when I tell you that I know what I did to you, he whispers. You have to believe me that I have paid for it a thousand times. You have to believe me that if there was anything in my life I could undo it’s this hurt and horror I gave you.

It hurts, Craig says, it hurts so badly. He holds himself tight against Luke’s heart, trying to work out why, why on earth it would come back to him now when he has Luke in every way he wants him, straight in front him.

It is Luke, overcome with shame and his own tears, who actually clarifies this.

I won’t do it again. Your heart is safe with me, I promise you, he says. I don’t want to be apart from you again.

And then Craig hears the imprecise knocking in his heart for what it is - not the old wounds, all dry and healed as he suspected, not even that he loved and lost Luke so badly, but that he didn’t have him, that he might lose him again, that he might yet have live with this yawning gape in his heart forever.

I just didn’t think it would be this hard, Craig whispers wetly to him after the first tide of his misery has subsided.

Sweetheart, Luke coos again. Craig won’t look at him. Even his tears are big, Luke notices. He makes a clumsy attempt to wipe them away but they’re still coming, Craig’s thick short lashes wet and black as tar, and once again Luke curses his failure to keep a supply of handkerchiefs nearby.

So he pulls off his jumper, and then his T-shirt, and mops ups Craig’s face with the T-shirt. It makes Craig laugh a little. He sniffles his thanks to Luke a little shamefaced, and when he’s dried his own face he uses it on Luke’s damp eyes.

Then they look at each other, and each marvels at how attractive the other looks, even in the pit of misery with red raw eyes and a swollen streaming nose.

You have to believe me, Craig, he says quietly to him again. You have to believe me that I’ve loved you for as long as you loved me. You have to believe that I hate what I did to you, and I hate that I can’t undo it. Luke kisses his cheek gently. It feels hot and sticky against his lips. I don’t know how to say sorry, Luke pleads to him. I don’t what I can say that will make it better. I can’t bear seeing you hurt like this.

Craig has quietened down a little, and has burrowed back into Luke, his head against his chest. It’s nice in here, he thinks, lost in Luke’s words, listening to Luke trying to put them back together.

You want to say anything? Luke asks, checking on the sad man he’s holding.

Craig knows that if he speaks, he’ll start sobbing again. He shakes his head, and stays pressed on Luke. So nice to be held, he thinks.

I don’t know what it is with us, Luke says finally. We can do the kissing and I love you parts, but we can’t seem to get to the actual relationship.

Craig laughs slightly, his nose still a little blocked. Maybe it’s because we love each other so much, he hears himself saying. He’s never presumed anything so large in his life. It startles him.

Luke thinks about this, and surreptitiously checks the dark eyes for more tears. To his relief he finds they’re dry for the time being.

I think you’re right, he agrees.

Luke changes his hold slightly, bringing the larger man down to lie against him on the floor. It’s easier to hold him this way, easier to stroke him. They lie silently for a few minutes, Craig breathing in Luke’s scent, Luke enjoying the warm puffs of Craig’s breath against his skin.

What should we do? Luke asks.

I keep telling you, I don’t know. Craig takes a deep breath and shivers a little. Luke rubs his arms without thinking, an instinctive response to warm him up. Craig looks up to him, the crimson rings of his eyes vivid. He smiles faintly at Luke and tells him, I know what I want to do.

Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh heh, Luke chuckles. So do I!

Heh heh heh, Craig responds. It’s just so inappropriate, isn’t it? And he rubs his face gently against Luke’s skin.

Very inappropriate. You know, that was something I read, about the male sex drive being really closely linked to anxiety.

Indeed, Craig says.

Some research person said that men always become extremely aroused when they are frightened or worried. Apparently when men feel threatened they have to have sex and spread their seed to keep their offspring coming. It is of great benefit to a distressed man to have sex, Luke explains.

Craig thinks about this. It’s a good excuse, he tells Luke. Heh heh heh heh heh heh, they both say. 

I just really want to be your boyfriend, Luke says after a while. I mean, Luke continues, stroking Craig’s head, if you want to too. Do you want to?

Funny, until I saw you yesterday, I really thought I didn’t, Craig says after a while. But I really do. I always have. That’s why I’m howling like this. I never thought it would happen. It still hurts, to think that I would never have you.

Luke nuzzles Craig’s red cheek. What, you’re howling because you thought you wouldn’t have me?

Well, yes, Craig agrees. I don’t like it, not having you. I never liked it, and I can’t see my way clear to getting used to it or actually liking it.

Well, I don’t like you not having me either. I think it’s most unsatisfactory that you don’t have me. So now you do have me. It’s that simple, Luke tells him. I’ll never love anyone like I love you. The next round of tears is starting to shine in his eyes and he holds Craig a little closer. 

It’s amazing how much a person can love someone, Craig says. The arms around him are so strong, much stronger than he thought.

Oh yes, says Luke. You make my heart feel so big, sweetheart.

Craig lies still until he feels the tears have gone. He is about to consider the awkwardness of crying like that – for he never has in front of a lover before – when he is distracted by the glint of stainless steel in Luke’s nipple.

Hello, he thinks.

Luke is rubbing his face on Craig’s head, struck by the peculiar pleasant woody scent, and temporarily distracted by the spectrum of fair, medium and dark chips through Craig’s hair. He rests his chin in amongst the different colours, keeping his hold on Craig firm and tight. Craig shifts a little against Luke’s body, and Luke can feel the impressive hardness in Craig’s jeans as he moves. You and me both, sweetheart, he thinks.

It appears to me that you feel as anxious about reproduction of the species as I do, Luke says in a very different way. I’m quite prepared to assist you in this matter.

I beg your pardon? Craig asks rather less elegantly than this.

Well, it’s intense, talking like this. I feel really emotional and really horny.

I know what you mean, Craig says. I’m incredibly wound up. And horny.

I’ve always wondered what it might be like to go down on you. It might make for a nice welcome back kiss for both of us.

Craig leans back and looks at Luke with his red eyes, feigning outrage. Luke can’t quite tell where the pupils end and the dark irises begin. I sit here and cry my heart out to you and you wonder if you should give me a blowjob? Craig says.

I really am disgusting, Luke says. Yes.

Heh heh heh heh heh, Craig laughs. He finds the notion not only hilarious but also incredibly arousing, not to mention a welcome relief from the miserable deluge they’ve just endured.

Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh, Luke laughs with him.

I don’t look very pretty, Craig says to Luke with a half smile.

You look exceptional to me, Luke says, very grateful Craig hasn’t broken his jaw.

I guess this is our moment, Craig tells him.

What moment might that be? Luke wonders aloud.

The moment where the relationship starts, Craig answers, taking his hand and kissing it, all the time holding Luke’s eyes with his own. We may as well start it somewhere.

Well, not before bloody time, Luke says, and bows forward to initiate the first relationship kiss.

And now it all starts to fall into happen. Sticks once and for all, as it were. Right time, right place.

So, Craig says, when Luke moves back, do I still get your assistance in serving my deep-seated primitive biological needs?

Nope. Sorry. I only said that to make you stop crying, Luke explains.

Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh. Can you do it anyway? Craig lightly presses his forehead against Luke’s.

I really love you, Luke tells him, and thus starts the second relationship kiss.

They tip over sideways, stretching their bodies out against each other, their kisses long and gentle.

When did you get this? Craig asks, gently bothering Luke’s nipple ring with his thumb.

Five weeks ago. My counsellor says it was a healthy way to reclaim my self. Luke catches another quick kiss.

Nice. Craig says, licking his lips. The grief seems to have subsided, and Luke seems a little more relaxed. Can I touch? he asks meekly.

You’ll be the first, Luke whispers back, and he lays on his back, curious and only a little nervous. 

Mine, all mine, Craig tells him. I love these things.

He fingers the jewellery with careful fingers; Luke groans involuntarily at the unexpected sharp pleasure. I am so in love, he thinks hazily as Craig softly slips his mouth over the ring and deftly threads the tip of his tongue through it.

Craig sucks gently until the teat swells in his mouth, and as Luke groans encouragement he runs his wet mouth over the smooth surface of Luke’s chest, Luke pushing out to meet the kisses, shots of fire all over him. Craig’s arms are wound around him, holding him close and then lifting him slightly, guzzling at Luke’s belly, kissing his throat, moving the kisses around his shoulders then back to his nipples. Perfect, Craig thinks, his mouth and nose filled with the scent and taste of Luke.

I’m scared, Luke thinks. Horny and scared.

Oh fuck, he’s mine, he’s all mine, Craig thinks with a burst of excitement that flashes right through him, churning up his misery and hesitation and feeding on them both. Luke grabs at Craig’s clothes, pulling him free of his jumper and shirt, rejoicing in the feel of the bare skin against his own, covering the broad chest with quick, demulcent kisses.

They tug at boot laces, pull at socks and struggle with zips, tossing discarded garments around them, all the time clinging to each other, taking each other in with their mouths and nose and hands, bewildered by the vast need they have to reconnect.

As they kiss each other’s faces, they stop to look into each other’s eyes. I want to be your boyfriend, they say in a way to each other. I don’t want to share you with anyone. 

And I love you. I really love you. I want to show you how much. I want to feel how much you love me. They’re rubbing their faces together, whispering, their skins softening as their body temperatures rise.

Craig readies himself to cover Luke with his body, to take him over completely but before he can he becomes aware that Luke is not just responding but actively participating. Craig finds himself being laid down on his back, his legs drawn around Luke’s hips, his head lifted and cradled so gently as Luke kisses him intensely, marks his shoulders and neck with soft sucking bites, holds his face while he kisses his still red rimmed eyes, the bridge of his nose, the corners of his lips.

And when Craig tries to regain his lead Luke rolls him over on his belly. You first, he tells Craig, his lips barely touching the conch of Craig’s ears. Luke starts his kisses here, soft papery kisses that wake up the tiny silver hairs along the edge of his lobes, then a trail of dewy kisses right over Craig’s shoulders, his arms, his ribs, soft nuzzles across the grid of scarlet scars where they put him back together, a series of little gobbling kisses in the small of his back, soft chewy kisses on his bottom, slight tender kisses on the lovely crease where his thighs start, long wet kisses down the muscles of his thighs, interesting sucking kisses on the back of his knees, sharp bites along his calf, right down to long licking kisses along his ankles, culminating in tiny dry kisses over the surprisingly sensitive surface of the length of his foot.

Exquisite, Craig thinks as he lay hungry and enchanted in a fog of anticipation. He feels the hard young body moving up against him again, and Luke is back at his ear, licking it gently. I’m hot, I’ve waited so long for you, Craig tells him. I’ve missed you, Luke tells him, I’ve always wanted to touch you like this. All of you, all over.

Craig rolls over to take him, his mouth melting against him, his hands travelling over to stroke him and have him there. But when he tries, Luke lies on top of him, starting his voyage of kisses at Craig’s jaw, down his throat, right across the surface of his chest from one armpit to the other, pausing briefly to meet and nibble each nipple, then across his belly, stopping for a tiny specific kiss on each little scar, then moving to bite at his hips, detouring straight to the front of his thighs. Then down straight away to his toes, kissing each little bunched digit, occasionally slipping his tongue between them to tickle, then back up the front of the long calves, pausing to leave light tongue kisses on his kneecaps. While Craig groans at the unexpected pleasure of having his knees kissed, Luke is now printing the path of his lips with his fingers, trailing them up Craig’s legs, who’s breathing becomes audible while Luke covers the inside of the long thighs with wet crinkling kisses as he moves them apart.

Craig starts to grimace with each touch, his whole pelvic region gorged with blood as he thrusts at Luke’s kisses with increasing irritability.

Oh my God, he’s good at this, Craig realises panting as Luke hooks one arm under Craig’s thigh, and uses the other hand to hold his hard shaft taut. Luke leaves his kisses right along the creases of Craig’s groin, holds him still as he savours the hot musky patches under his scrotum and, as the protest grows louder, lifts his head to slowly taste the length of his shaft. Beautiful, Luke thinks, ignoring Craig’s pleading hand on his head. Big and hard and beautiful.

Craig knows if he looks down at Luke he’ll lose it completely, so he keeps his eyes squeezed shut, squirming under each tormenting caress, reaching his body out to the hot wetness, awkward and aggressive until he feels Luke’s mouth where he wants it, soothing him slowly with the most intimate of kisses.

“Now,” Craig demands in a hoarse and urgent voice that needs no translation, “Now.”

Luke wets his lips quickly with his tongue, gently blots precum from the fragile pleats of Craig’s foreskin with a kiss, then folds it back with one tender movement that makes Craig cry out, his body moving powerfully when Luke takes him in his mouth. Craig is jolting underneath him, the last scraps of his anguish mounting and releasing as the strokes of Luke’s mouth become faster and firmer. The temptation is too much and Craig opens his eyes, sees Luke looking up at him, mouth full, his eyes liquid with love, and Craig comes as hard and strong as he can remember, his body jerking into Luke’s mouth as he names Luke, begs incoherently for more then I love you, I love you so much, God I love you, the pleasure of speaking his name and declaring his love as satisfying as the physical release.

When his breathing calms down he looks down to Luke, watching him with saint’s eyes, chin resting on Craig’s hipbone. Craig extends his arms to him and Luke slides up into the embrace, nuzzling. Taste, Luke says, inviting Craig’s mouth to his own, and Craig tenderly caresses his tongue with his own in a deep kiss, acknowledging his flavour blending with Luke’s. It is an incredibly intimate gesture that for a few seconds overwhelms them both, and they rest their faces together, patently aware of the bonds they are rebuilding or creating with one another.

I love you so much, Craig tells him, stroking the length of Luke’s back with his fingertips, you make me so happy. I want to make you feel the same. Your turn.

Luke mutters near Craig’s ear. Sorry. I really want to. I’m really horny. I just don’t…  
Sit up with me, Craig says. Luke does as he’s asked, sitting facing Craig, gentle fingers trailing his belly, Craig’s touch sparking along his skin, down through Luke’s hardening cock.

I’m scared, Luke tells him, twisted with desire and fear. You’re beautiful, Craig says softly, his hands still touching, watching the pleasure fleet across Luke’s face, watching him shudder at the soft touches. I’m really scared, he tells Craig again. Here, put your arms around my neck, hold on, Craig says, inching closer to Luke, drawing him in, winding his leg around him. I know you’re scared. He kisses him gently as he touches him, watching Luke’s hard cock throb and twitch in his hand, lightly stroking the length of the stiff shaft with the backs of his fingers, gently squeezing the crown with his fingertips, slicking the clear glassy spurt over the surface with his palm. Luke groans and bucks at the touch, stretches his arms and back, the whole time holding Craig yet never looking at him. Craig bumps Luke’s face lightly with his own. Fuck I love your body, Craig tells him with splits in his voice, I love touching and holding you. 

I’m scared, Luke says, and then Craig, still touching, starts whispering to him about not much at all really, small sweet things that stop the ugly frightening things from coming back to Luke by allowing him to concentrate on the beautiful voice and the beautiful kind words and before he knows it Craig is slowly masturbating him, gentle slow strokes that overtake Luke quicker than he expects, reminding him how long its been since he felt this good, and as he starts to come Craig coaxes him, increasing the pressure and the friction and Luke climaxes to Craig telling him, tears in his eyes again, mine, you’re all mine, I love you so deeply, no one ever comes near you again.

After the marvellous waves have subsided, Luke rests against Craig’s chest and Craig hold him still, quiet in the poor light, his heart humming with gratitude. They sit wrapped together, both crying again but this time with a sort of relief. Neither of them has ever felt so vulnerable or confused, never felt so grateful to be held.

When they’ve both recovered, they pull rugs and cushions from the couch and make themselves a little nest of sorts on the floor. The settle in amongst each other, emotionally and physically exhausted.

Craig shifts his weight over the top of Luke, moving his bones until they’re both comfortable. Luke watches at Craig for a long time, heavy eyed and then dozing against his shoulder. There’s so much of him. It occurs to Luke, kissing Craig’s brow and tucking the rug around him, that he now has responsibility for something large and important and infinitely vulnerable.

Craig sighs a little as he dozes, content and warm with Luke safe underneath him. He’s mine, to have, to hold, all mine, he thinks as he drops off.

They’re still holding each other when they wake up a few hours later.

Chapter 35½  
I do declare

“Good,” Luke says with his mouth full as Craig feeds him with his fingers, “very good.”

They’re lying side by side on the floor, belly down, bare arsed, scoffing pizza.

*************************

They woke up early evening in the dark lounge, cozy and lazy and hungry.

“I’m starving,” Craig had said into Luke’s neck, lolling against the hot smooth skin.

“We didn’t have any lunch,” Luke remembers.

“Well, we had stuff to do,” Craig says vaguely.

“Good stuff,” Luke confirms.

Craig sits up a little and smoothes Luke’s face with his hand. “Good stuff,” he agrees. “Even the embarrassing stuff.” They move their faces together, kissing gently. So this is how he tastes when he wakes up, Luke thinks.  
He’s so warm, so soft when he’s sleepy, thinks Craig.

Luke smiles at him. “You’re going all gooey on me again,” he notes with pleasure.

“I’m a fairly gooey kind of bloke.”

“Gooey’s good,” Luke reassures him with a small kiss. “What?” Luke asks, when Craig pulls away and looks at him.

“I’m starving. I have to eat.”

“Well, whaddya want, Gilmore?”

Craig moves his face back, a little surprised and a little delighted at their new familiarity.

“More cous cous?” Luke grins at him.

“I’m about right for cous cous, thanks.”

“Soup? Cheese? Duck?”

“Have you got duck?” Craig doesn’t feel like duck, but he’s interested to know if Luke can cook it.

“No. Actually I don’t think I could eat a duck. I like them with their beaks on,” Luke answers.

“Bloody sook,” Craig nuzzles into his face. “When you come to Brighton I’ll take you somewhere that’ll change your mind about ducks. Are you hungry?”

“That’d be right, one afternoon and you’re already trying to change me,” Luke beams at him. “I’m starving too.”

“You’re overdue for change, Ashton”, Craig says in a playful cranky voice. “What will we eat?”

“Tell me what you want and I’ll make it for you.” Luke looks straight into his eyes.

Craig stares back, his face heavy with love, smoothing Luke’s torso with his hand. “Salt. Grease. Processed fat,” he says, licking his lips.

“Fish and chips?”

“Not enough grease. Needs to be really greasy.”

Luke thinks. “Big Mac?” he tries.

Craig grimaces. “Not quite that bad.”

“Well, what, you bloody girl?” Luke laughs gently at him. “Pizza?”

Craig’s eyes glaze over a little. “Perfect,” he says. “That’s exactly what I want. Can we order one in here?”

Luke nods. He knows just the place. “Ham and pineapple?”

Craig scoffs. “Who’s the bloody girl?”

Luke scowls a little, but the effect is lost because he’s smiling. “Nothing girly about ham and pineapple.”

Craig rolls over on his back, his arm firm around Luke, bringing him with him to lay on his chest. “I’ll have one with the lot, and extra anchovies, thank you,” he says, dropping his voice an octave or two.

“Yeah, well, extra bloody anchovies doesn’t mean you’re butch,” Luke tells him. “Where are my pants?”

“Don’t remember,” Craig says, lifting his head to survey the assorted clothes tossed around the room. “Where are mine?”

“Good question. This place was tidy before you threw my clothes everywhere. We might have to lie here naked and starving for weeks.”

Craig rolls his eyes.

Luke props himself up on Craig’s chest, serious for a moment.

“If we got trapped in a jungle or something together, and we had no food, would you eat me?”

Craig looks at him incredulous.

“What?”

“No, seriously, would you eat me?”

He takes a couple of appreciative handfuls of Luke’s firm skin gently between his fingers.

“What, if you were alive?” Craig finds himself asking.

Luke nods.

“What, you’re asking me if I’d kill you and eat you?”

Luke nods.

Craig pretends to consider this seriously. “Wouldn’t you better off killing me and eating me? I’d last longer.”

“Yeah, but I’d be more tender. You’d be a bit stringy,” Luke says, only his eyes smiling. “Go on, tell me, would you eat me?”

“Stringy? Excuse me?”

“Oh, alright, tough. But would you eat me?”

“No!” Craig says, exasperated. “And I wouldn’t be tough if you cooked me properly.” He thinks for a minute. “Would you eat me?”

“I’m not going to answer that. I think it’s a bit sick.” Luke says pompously, and Craig grabs him hard and rolls him over the floor.

It’s an interesting conversation to record because it’s the first of thousands like this that they’ll enjoy for years.

 

“Try,” Luke says, holding the ham and pineapple pizza at Craig’s mouth. 

He takes a bite, and stretches the cheese back, catching a wedge of pineapple with his tongue.

“Good?” Luke asks through a mouth of half chewed pizza.

Craig nods. “This is better,” he says, his head tipped back slightly so as not to spill anything. “Here,” he says, holding a piece of the one with the lot at Luke’s mouth.

“What’s the salty powdery stuff?” Luke says with another full mouth.

“Anchovy. Like it?”

Luke nods, surprised. “Funny, I always thought I hated it.”

Craig looks at him, waiting for an explanation.

“Well, everybody does. I just figured they must be right.” Luke leans over and gently swabs the corner of Craig’s lips, pushing a small speck of olive into his mouth, and then lets him lick his fingers.

“You’re a ratbag,” says Craig adoringly.

****************************

They’re still lying together amongst cushions and rugs on the floor a half an hour later, talking and laughing.

“I want to ask you something. Can I?” He is gently pushing his fingertips through Craig’s hair.

Craig has a full belly and is feeling utterly coated with love. It has made him a little silly.

“You may,” he says, stroking Luke’s face.

Luke looks at him, a little embarrassed.

“Go on,” Craig says softly.

Luke still looks at him. The longer he hesitates, the more ludicrous it’s going to sound.

“Just ask me,” he says, smiling. Oh God I love you, he’s thinking.

Luke catches the thought in his face and smiles. Craig strokes Luke’s face with his index finger.

“Are you going to ask if I fell in love with you when I saw you in shower?” Craig guesses.

“No, no I wasn’t,” Luke answers, looking surprised, “But I’d Iike to know that too. I’ll ask you that in a minute.” And still he doesn’t ask what he wants.

“I think we’ve just about covered everything we can say or do to each other, apart from murder. Do you really think that there is anything now that will shock me?” Craig says, smiling.

Luke assesses this, and then shakes his head, smiling at Craig.

“Then just ask me.”

“Do you all call the men you sleep with darling?”

Craig smiles at him, still stroking his face. “I’ve never called anyone darling in my life before you,” he tells him. Luke raises his eyebrows, so Craig explains. “Jenny actually started calling you my darling when I first told her about you. I wouldn’t tell her your name at first, so whenever we spoke she called you your darling.” Craig quickly corrects that. “Meaning my darling. And that’s what I started calling you to myself.” He admires Luke’s face as he strokes his cheekbones. “It’s a bit corny, isn’t it?”

“I really like it when you say it. You make it sound true.”

“It is. You are darling to me.”

And they go a bit gooey for few more seconds.

“And the shower?”

“Well, the first thing I wondered is why you walked over to me stark naked.”

“You looked really familiar,” Luke tells him seriously. “I thought I knew you.” 

“You still didn’t think it might be appropriate to put some clothes on?”

“Actually, I did, but not until a couple of days later. I thought about it afterwards and realised that you must have thought I was right idiot.” Luke rests his chin on Craig’s shoulder. “Did you?”

Craig doesn’t answer, instead smiles to himself.

“What?” Luke asks.

Craig closes his eyes. “I thought you had the most beautiful body I had ever seen,” he says contentedly.

“So did you fall in love with me then?”

“No. Not until later in the day.”

“When?”

“When you came up and asked me if I wanted to come for a drink at the end of the day.”

Luke looks at him, laughing a little.

“When I asked you to come with me and Tony?”

Craig nods.

“When you looked at me as if you hated me?”

Craig nods again.

“Did you?” Luke checks.

“Did I what?”

“Hate me?”

“I fell in love with you. How could I have hated you?”

“You acted like you hated me.”

“I didn’t.”

“It’s a funny way to fall in love with someone,” Luke says.

Craig grins, tightening his hold slightly. “Worked for me,” he says happily.

“So why didn’t you come to the pub with me?”

“I had to go home to Sean,” Craig explains. “I mean, I wanted to, but I couldn’t. And I thought you were just asking to be polite. You know,” he grins, “Sucking up to your boss.”

“I just wanted to talk to you,” Luke says, propping himself back up. “I was really scared of you, and I wanted you to like me.”

“You were meant to be scared of me. I wasn’t being horrible for fun.”

Luke thinks about that night so long ago, and how he felt when he finally got home. The thought makes him smile.

“What? What are you smiling at?” Craig wraps his arms around Luke’s waist.

Luke flicks his eyebrows a little and asks,

“What did you do when got home?” 

Craig puts his lips near Luke’s left ear. “I wanked in the shower,” he says in a low sneak voice, lightly squeezing Luke along his back.

Luke smiles broadly. “Me too!” he says, and then, once again, it occurs to both of them how long they’ve waited for this. They hold each other’s’ gaze, and then gently nuzzle their faces together, catching each other’s’ mouth from time to time. It takes them months to get over this lovely realisation. It occurs to both at all times of the day and night, and invariably culminates in the same gooey cuddling.

“And later, when you said I wasn’t your type, did you mean that?” Luke has always wondered.

“I’m lying naked with you on your lounge floor. I cried all over you. We’ve been at it like rabbits for the last couple of hours. I blew my nose on your T-shirt. Am I acting like you’re not my type?” Craig says.

“No, I mean, well, Sean was older than me. You know, he was different. I mean, the doctor, the press officer guy – they’re not like me. Were they your types?”

“Obviously not. But I know what you mean. I’ve never been out with out with anyone so much younger than me – unless you count Carl, which I don’t.” They smile at each other. “I kept telling myself that you weren’t my type when I first met you, but then I just realised that you were exactly my type.” 

Luke draws himself up to kiss again. “Your age doesn’t come in to it, really.” Luke strokes his face, looking closely at the shadow of stubble on Craig’s chin.

“Am I your type?” Craig asks.

Luke looks up and smiles. “Well, that’s the thing – I didn’t have a type ‘til I met you. I had no idea what kind of man would attract me, because none of them ever did. I mean, I had an idea of what I thought might be nice…,” he stops, embarrassed.

“What?” And when Luke clams up a little, Craig holds him a little tighter. “You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m a git,” Luke says shyly.

Craig rubs his lips against the fine gritty stubble of Luke’s chin. “You’re perfect,” he says.

“I wanted someone a bit older,” Luke says, looking down. “Someone a bit – you know…”

Craig nods. “I know,” is all he says.

Luke feels a bit stupid until Craig whispers to him. “You are so beautiful.” He wraps his arms around Luke tightly, convinced he has caught the most exotic and most treasured of creatures on the planet. “So beautiful,” he whispers again.

Then Luke remembers something else. He moves back a little, looking straight into Craig’s eyes.

“I love you,” he says with conviction. “I can say that to you whenever I like.”

Craig nods, stroking his face with the backs of his fingers.

“And you can say it back,” Luke hints.

Craig nods again, his eyes sparkling.

“Whenever you want,” Luke adds.

Craig nods again.

“Anytime,” Luke says.

Craig nods again.

Luke hesitates for a moment. “Do you?”

It’s too serious to joke about yet, and Craig pulls him in as close as he can. “So much. I love you so much,” he says softly.

Luke thinks about this for a few minutes. He thinks about all the things he has done and said to Craig in the past. Then he props himself up on an elbow, his eyes deep in Craig’s.

“Why?” 

“Why do I love you?”

“After everything I’ve done to you,” Luke says quietly. “Why?”

Craig wonders how he might explain it. 

Because you’re marvellous, he thinks, because you’re funny and sweet and brave. Because your heart is deep enough to feel things properly, but your mind is sharp enough to interpret them quickly. Because you’re responsible and you do your job to the best of your ability. Because you believe it’s important to improve yourself and challenge yourself. Because, even though you’ve made some bad mistakes, you’ve learnt from them and are a better person for it.

Because you have the courage to pick yourself up and keep going no matter how bad the blows are, and because you don’t blame the world for your blows, but instead look to see how you can help the rest of the world having to suffer the same blows.

Because you’re beautiful. Your skin is soft, your eyes are shiny and clear, your shoulders are strong and hard, your chest is fantastic. You’re masculine and carry your sense of identity with dignity and not vanity. Your smile makes my heart shake. Your weight feels perfect against me, you fit into my arms like you were made for no other purpose. You’re healthy and strong, you gleam with vitality. You smell and taste wonderful. 

Because you’re flawed and wounded too, and you make me want to hold you safe from everything and everyone. Because, more than any person I’ve loved, you arouse in me an overwhelming desire to protect and nurture like I long too. Because you make me feel that I count for something when I’m with you, because now that I’ve found you again you make me feel that everything I want to give and share with you will be treasured.

Because every time I see you, you make the world bright and colourful where previously it was drab and ill defined. Because the simple thought that you might love me makes my whole life better. Because you make me feel like the man I actually want to be.

Craig touches Luke’s face gently, first his lips, and then the delicate skin under his eyes.

“Well, you’re Luke,” he says, as if that explains everything. “You’re everything I love in a man.”

Luke just looks at him, regarding how lucky one person can get in twenty four hours.

“Well?” Luke asks him after a few seconds.

“Well what?”

“Well, don’t you want to know why I love you?”

Craig smirks a little as he considers a smart arsed remark.

“And if you’re going to start comparing your behaviour to mine, I can tell you now I’m not sayin’ anything!” Luke warns him.

“Tell me why you love me, darling,” Craig purrs.

Luke is silent.

“You don’t know, do you?” Craig laughs.

Luke lifts his chin, defiant.

“Because I trust you. The first time I ever saw you, I thought you looked familiar because I trusted you straight away, if that makes sense. I just always knew that about you, I always knew I could trust you.”

Craig smiles mildly. This is nice, he thinks. “Go on.”

“And you’re good at what you do, you take things seriously. I mean, you take the right things seriously. Not just your job, but yourself. You know what I mean? You’re good at being a cop, you’re good at being a bloke. You’re good at being a poof. There’s no drama about you. You just do things properly.”

“And you’re patient. I’ve seen you, not just with me, but with everyone. You never lose it like Matt used to, or like Gina does sometimes, you wait things out. I don’t know, like you have control of things. I always liked that about you.”

“Sense of humour. Great sense of humour. The best thing about it is that you have to pay attention to get it. I love that. I was really surprised when I first heard you make a joke at someone.”

“Why?” Craig asks, rather surprised himself.

“Well, You never laughed. Actually, you never even smiled. Well, not at me at least.” Luke touches Craig’s lips with a couple of fingers. “You have such a sexy smile. The first time I saw you smile, all I could think of was how to make you smile at me.”

Craig smiles at him especially. “There you go,” he says gently.

“See?” Luke says, briefly touching Craig’s chin. “Gorgeous.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Craig counters, ready to take him in a deep kiss.

“I haven’t finished. There’s more. Oh, the obvious one! You’re so bloody stubborn! I mean, you’re really stubborn!” Craig looks at him indignant. “You really are! Not just in the bull headed way, but in the good way too. Anyone would have given up on me years ago, or not even bothered. It’s like you sort of hung on because you knew that it would be good - you know, us – sooner or later.

Craig feels a little embarrassed, in the good way.

“And you’re really warm. I mean, underneath it all, you are just such a softie, Gilmore. Cuddly, almost. I mean, only for the people you like. And I like that, that you don’t spread it around, you just keep it for a couple of people.” Luke looks for the phrase. “Quality, not quantity.” he says proudly.

“That’s nice,” Craig says, very satisfied with himself.

“That’s not all. I mean, there’s thousands of things, but a couple I have to tell you now.

“Oh, do go on,” Craig says happily. He’s never had a lover give him a report card, and it never occurred to him how nice it would be.

“Well, the way you touch. I mean, it just about killed me, my stag night, and walking away from it. I never knew that someone could touch me like that. It was amazing. And again, this afternoon, the way you do it.” Luke looks genuinely bemused. “It’s amazing. Magic hands. It’s one of the things, I think, after you left and I thought I’d never see you again, that made me the most sad, not just that I’d never get to be with you, but that I’d never feel how someone felt about me just when they put their hand on me.” Luke is pensive for a minute, and Craig strokes his neck.

“You can only feel it because I feel it,” Craig tells him, lightly touching Luke’s cheek.

“S’pose,” Luke says, not entirely convinced that Craig hasn’t got magic hands. “And there’s the way you say my name. You kind of curl it a bit. Nobody says my name the way you do,” Luke says admiringly.

“Luke?” Craig tests, to see how it sounds when he says it. “It must be a Welsh thing,” he decides, because he can’t hear anything unusual.

“No, it’s a Gilmore thing,” Luke tells him, because he can definitely hear it.

“That’s a good list,” Craig says, his ego well and truly stroked.

Luke smiles. “One more. Not the most important thing,” here Luke moves his head down to Craig ear, “But the added bonus - you are so good looking. Big and strong and dark. Gorgeous eyes. Fantastic body. Biceps,” Luke says, squeezing them now. Craig lightly flexes the muscle under Luke’s fingers. “I used to watch you in the gym,” Luke says in a guilty hush, “Used to perv at your biceps and your thighs.” He takes a breath. “Very nice, Sarge,” he says, soft on Craig’s ears, “Very nice.”

Humble people are always surprised to hear marvellous things about themselves. Craig, who has never really thought much about his thighs, is no exception.

“Well, that’s the bloody limit, Ashton,” Craig tells him with an expressionless face, and Luke is confused until Craig grabs him around the waist and rolls on top of him, kissing him deeply, hands all over him, holding him down.

Later that night, after they’ve cleaned up the lounge and gathered their clothes, they curl up together for their first night in a bed as a couple. This little milestone makes both men very gooey.

Luke only wakes up once, his panic less sharp, less disturbing, and Craig is already holding him, sleepily stroking him, whispering hush in the dark.

“I’ve got you, it’s okay,” he tells Luke, half asleep.

*****************************

“It hasn’t happened since,” Luke tells Gary in one of their last counselling sessions later that week. “It just stopped. I don’t feel as scared anymore.”

“How do you feel then?” Gary asks him, although it is not difficult, these days, to see how Luke feels.

He smiles at the wise older man, his eyes electric.

“Lucky,” Luke says confidentially. “Loved and lucky.”

*******************************

“It’s amazing,” Amelia says through a mouth full of avocado and turkey sandwich when she has lunch with Craig on Wednesday. “So strange to run into him like that. It’s the sort of story that heart broken people will pass on to each other forever. You two will become the poster boys for star-crossed lovers everywhere.”

Craig grins at her when he swallows a bite of his wholemeal roll-no butter-roast beef-mustard- and-salad lunch. “You wouldn’t read about it,” he agrees.

“Truth is always stranger than fiction. So where to for you both from here?”

“Don’t know,” Craig says truthfully. “We haven’t really talked about the future, not past next weekend at any rate.” He stops to take a drink of his coffee, and then smiles.

“It’s just nice have him here and now,” he continues. “I just want to know what it’s like being with him, one day at a time.”

 

Chapter 35¾ 

They saw the crescent

One of the less interesting parts of starting a relationship is the opinions, helpful advice, fears and reservations of friends of family. Everyone wants you to live happily ever, everyone doubts that there is such a thing as happily ever after, everyone wonders if you are right for each other, too similar, too dissimilar, too young, too old. No one wants to see you get hurt, no one is entirely sure that you won’t.

Craig and Luke’s organic history is a dramatic and interesting one. It comes as no surprise that speculation, blind optimism, conjecture and fear ran rife amongst their friends and family.

********************

It’s Monday morning, November 14th, two days after they have found each other again. Luke wakes up at 4.50am, Craig spooned in around him, shifting and snuffling to the sound of the alarm.

“Should I call in sick?” Luke asked with his thick sleepy mouth, cosy against the strong body behind him. 

“No,” the Sarge said, still a copper even when he’s half-asleep. “You have to go to work.”

Luke padded down to the shower in the dark with an armful of clean clothes he’d wisely set aside the night before.

When he walked in to the kitchen some minutes later, a little damp around the neck, neat and tidy, Craig was waiting for him with a plate of Marmite on toast and cup of coffee.

“I don’t want you to think I’m going to do this for you all the time,” Craig lied, slowly sipping his own coffee.

Luke was still pretty tired. He couldn’t think of any sharp retort, so he answered with a soft kiss instead.

“I’ve factored in ten minutes for us to say goodbye,” he says to Craig with a mouth full of toast.

“Organised poof,” Craig smiles at him.

“It’s too early for you to be weird at me,” Luke mutters.

“Ask Gina. She told me that you and I are both organised poofs.”

“My dressing gown doesn’t fit you,” Luke observes.

“Not even close,” Craig agrees. “Still, I can’t walk around naked.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. When I remember I’ll call and tell you.”

Luke thinks for a moment as he eats his toast. Perfect amount of Marmite, he notes. “Will you call?” he asks, not looking up.

Craig smiles. “No.” Luke looks up quickly. “What do you think, Ashton?”

Luke continues on his toast, satisfied. “What’ll we do?”

“Well, do you want to come to Brighton?”

“Yeah. I really want to meet your cat,” Luke says through another mouthful of toast.

“Well, she takes visitors on Sundays between 2 and 4,” Craig says, crisply as he can for 5.30 in the morning.

Luke is silent for a bit. “I’m on for ten days, then I have four days off.”

“I’m on for nine, and then I have four days off,” Craig says.

“Weekend?” Luke suggests. Not enough, not enough, not enough, he thinks.

“Do you want to come for the weekend you’re off?” Craig asks. “That flea market is on.”

Get there Saturday, go home Sunday. Pretty brief.

“Sure...I could get there on the Friday night,” Luke tries, squeezing in a bit of extra time.

“May as well get there on the Friday morning,” Craig counters. “If you’re not doing anything.”

Luke thinks a bit longer. “Well, why not the Thursday night? Then we could have three days?”

They look at eachother across the small kitchen, and Craig gives in first.

“If you just come on after work on Wednesday night we could have four full days. If you want.” He presses his lips together.

Luke smiles far more brightly that anybody should so early in the morning. “That’d be nice. I get to hang with your cat, and any time left over I can spend with you.” They smile at eachother over their coffee. “Have you seen my bag?” Luke asks, getting ready to leave.

Craig tilts his head towards the door where the bag has sat in a small dejected heap in the spot Luke dropped it when they came home on Saturday night.

Luke is walking back to Craig, sorting through his bag to make sure he has everything he needs.

“Forgot to charge my phone,” he says, slightly annoyed.

Craig pulls a slightly annoyed face in sympathy. “What’s that?” he asks, as Luke produces a large wedge of something wrapped in tinfoil.

“Grandma’s fruit cake,” he smiles. “She gave it to me to eat on the train.”

“Sweet,” Craig says. He’s watching Luke fossick through the bag, wondering what else is in there.

Luke feels the small leather pouch and a cute guilty look comes over his face. Craig raises his eyebrows, waiting for the revelation.

Luke answers Craig’s expression and hands over the pouch. He smiles broadly when he recognises the hotel wrapper on the soap.

“I was looking for that,” he says to Luke after a few seconds.

“I had to take something,” he says by way of explanation.

Craig nods, holding the soap in the pouch. So long ago. Luke takes it back and tucks it in his bag. “There’s plenty of soap in the bathroom,” he tells Craig.

“It’s five thirty,” Craig warns, catching a glimpse of Luke’s watch.

“Then I’ll have to go in a few minutes,” Luke says, resigned. Craig says nothing, but puts his cup down and opens his arms to him. The allocated goodbye minutes tick past rapidly. He smells lovely even when he needs a shower, Luke thinks, unaware that tiny scraps of Craig’s scent now mark his own skin.

“Have a good trip home,” Luke says as they hold close, not looking at eachother.

“Thanks. You have a good day at work.”

“It was nice, this, wasn’t it?” Luke says after a few seconds. Craig tightens his hold a little.

“It was great,” he agrees, lowering his face to take Luke’ s mouth again. Luke, clean and shiny, with ninety seconds to spare before he is running late. Craig runs his hands over Luke’s shoulders and back, trying to commit his shape and scent to memory.

“You should go back to bed,” Luke tells him.

“I will. You should go to work.”

Luke nods, and Craig follows him to the door. Luke turns to look at him before he leaves, resting his hand behind Craig’s neck. I will see you again, won’t I, he thinks, not wanting to look needy and insecure, but desperate for some confirmation to get him through the next ten days.

Craig kisses his mouth lightly one last time. “I’ll see you in Brighton then. I’m going to really miss you,” he says.

“Me too,” Luke smiles, relieved. “But after today it’s only nine more days.”

*******************

Craig is back in bed, missing Luke already. He can’t sleep, and figures he may as well get up and get going, but it’s so nice to be in Luke’s bed, in amongst Luke’s things. He rolls over on his belly to check the alarm clock on the bottom shelf of his bedside table, and he spies a small pile of books which adequately conceal, to the inattentive eye, a small pile of porn magazines.

Craig chuckles to himself as he idly flicks through a nice visual representation of Luke’s quaint harmless preferences, and feels he is more than able to meet or exceed Luke’s expectations in this department.

Come to papa, Craig thinks to himself happily.

Later that morning, Craig leaves Luke an absorbing sweet letter, with his address, his mobile number and his home number. The letter also includes some private tender comments that make Luke’s heart sing when he reads them, and ensures he has no reason to feel insecure about seeing Craig again.

Craig closes the letter with some general gooey comments, largely praising Luke’s initiative in being the first man ever to kiss Craig’s kneecaps.

Before he leaves, Craig gives in to an urge that has been nagging him all morning, irresistible as a loose tooth. He drops his bag at the door and makes his way back to Luke’s neat lounge room, and thinks for a minute before bending before the small table there.

It takes Tom Yum only four seconds to recognise the fish in the mirror and react with his customary flapping fury.

Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh, Craig smiles to himself.

*************************

 

“Where have you been?” Jenny screeches down the phone to her brother as he is driving home. “Why have you had your phone turned off? I’ve been trying to call you for days!”

“I’ve been with a friend,” Craig tells her.

“A friend WHERE?”

“In London.”

“WHO?”

“Just a friend,” Craig tells her, grinning ear to ear. “I can’t talk, I’m driving. It’s an offence. Can I call you when I get home?”

“Bloody narc. Tell me first – did you get your letter?”

It seems like such a long time ago, now. “Yeah. Got the letter.”

“Worth the wait?”

“Oh, yes.” Every minute of every day of every week of twenty-two months. What I’ve got was worth every second.

Jenny is silent for a minute.

“You sneaky queen,” she says, “have you met someone?

“Definitely, my darling,” Craig says. He hangs up after a bit because Jenny screams so loudly.

She has to wait another two hours before she can scream and squeal at Craig in his home. In that time, her initial surprise and delight gives way to the same doubt she knew when Craig first told her about the trauma after Luke kissed him two years ago. She remembers the anger she felt at Luke as he repeatedly wounded Craig, and her black heated fury when she spoke with Craig, broken hearted, shortly after Luke’s wedding.

 

She remembers Luke, standing staring at her in Craig’s doorway, determined to see Craig, the crushed look on his face when he learnt Craig was gone.

Jenny doesn’t know what to feel, or what to hope for them. Just don’t let him get hurt again, she thinks as she scrawls abrasive comments all over a takeover submission prepared by her department.

***********************

At the same time Jenny speaks with Craig, Gina meets Luke outside while she adds another link to her interminable chain of cigarettes.

“PC Ashton,” she says pleasantly.

“Ma’am!” he beams at her. He looks positively rosy.

Gina takes in his expression, and phrases her next question carefully.

“Luke, for someone who has just buried their father two days ago you don’t seem very…mournful.”

“True,” Luke agrees after a few seconds.

“Have you had a life changing experience, PC Ashton?” Gina asks him with a calculating glint.

Luke’s eyes sparkle and his face flushes pink. Craig won’t mind if I tell her.

“Spent the weekend with an organised poof I ran into.” Luke can barely get the words out, he smiles so hard.

Gina is visibly shocked for a few seconds and, to Luke’s amazement, speechless. He’s never seen her like that before.

“Craig?” she asks, incredulous, cigarette smoke wafting around her like a charmed snake.

Luke nods with a smile that could light up South London. 

“You little bastards!” she spurts. “I was supposed to organise that!”

That night, Craig wonders over a bowl of minestrone whether he should call Luke tonight, or whether when he should wait a few days. Maybe he’ll call me.

The etiquette of the first phonecall, he muses.

When the phone rings he is certain it is Luke, and is surprised to hear a rather sexy husky woman’s voice on the other end of the line.

“You saucy old tart,” she says when he picks up the phone. “I understand you’ve re-opened the case file on one of my PCs.” Craig recognises Gina when he hears the cigarette lighter and the sound of smoke exhaled immediately after.

“Well,” Craig answers, “New evidence came to light. I thought the matter warranted further investigation.”

“Hmmm. By the look of the PC in question today I would say that the matter has been thoroughly investigated. I understand it took you two days to interview him.”

“It did, Ma’am,” Craig plays along, “But he was very co-operative.”

“I’ve no doubt. Will you be taking any further action on this matter?”

“Yes,” Craig says definitely. “I think it will be on-going investigation.”

“I hope so,” Gina says. “And I hope that you’ll both be very happy.”

Gina wonders about it all night. So good for both of them, she knows, but what if it isn’t what they thought it would be? She has tiny splinters of fear that Luke will bunk out again, leaving Craig ruined for life or, worse still, that Craig will find Luke a touch too young, a little unripe, just not quite what he thought.

Bloody happily ever afters, Gina thinks in bed, as she settles down in soft pink flannelette pyjamas, clutching a shot of whisky and a hardcover edition of Madame Bovary.

Craig doesn’t call Luke, and Luke is tired and busy, cds scattered on the floor in front of him, Craig’s letter safe in his pocket.

I miss him, they both think as they stroke their bodies in the dark later that night in their lonely beds. I’m not going to last nine days.

****************************

 

“Morning, Sarge,” Amelia, fresh from two days off, says early on Wednesday morning. “Nice time with Nana Price? Super wants to see you straight away.”

Craig looks up from his desk and smiles so handsomely Amelia thinks he’s possessed. He’s holding an open internal mail envelope, looking at a small scrawled note that is stuck to a cd in a plastic cover. 

“What on earth has happened to you?” she asks.

“Long story,” he says with bright eyes, getting up from his desk. “I’ll tell you when I come back.” And he actually pats her shoulder as he walks out the door.

“Ahh, Craig,” says the overscented Super. “Great to see you. Haven’t seen you around for a while.” He doesn’t wait for Craig to explain where he has been or why.

“I’ve had some response to the preliminary chapters of your Community Relations Interview report. Very encouraging. The minister’s people are MOST impressed.” The Super gives Craig a cheesy smile; Craig is certain he can see the scent coming off the man in waves.

The Super bangs on for several minutes about the importance of this report in respect to South Western district budget allocations; Craig strains to keep his focus on the tiresome man and off Luke.

“…so successful, in fact, the people in London would like you to help set up a series of similar studies later mid next year in three other district centres. If you’re interested in moving, of course, which I should hope you should be, you’d be able to contribute in the supervision and co-ordination of all three projects.”

Supervision of three projects in three cities. Craig’s ambitious streak lights up, snapping at this opportunity and suddenly the Super has his full attention.

“Move where?”

“Well, they’re looking at Birmingham, Leeds and Edinburgh. They haven’t settled on the final place yet, but it would be one of those three. My understanding is that, if you were interested, they’d be prepared to consider your preference.”

The Super leans across the desk and smiles indulgently at the Sergeant who has made him look so good. Craig’s eyes ache at the intensity of the scent.

“You’ll have to go and see them in London in late January,” the Super says. They’re setting up a Community Relations Co-ordination Committee to manage the project, and I think you’ll probably have to meet with them a few times to sort it out.”

“Wow,” says Amelia to Craig when they have lunch later that day. “Three different projects. You interested?”

She expects a predictable cautionary reaction from Craig, and is surprised that he seems – well, almost optimistic.

“I’d love too,” he says, still very happy at this kind of recognition. “I mean, obviously I have to wait until January, see what they’re actually planning, but, yeah, I’d love to be involved.”

“And Luke?”

Craig’s optimism doesn’t waiver. “Well, he was talking about wanting to go to college in Edinburgh,” he says.

Later, as she sorts out the last of files that will largely be used as footnotes in their final report, Amelia thinks about Craig when she first met him. Broken, out in the cold. She remembers the first time he spoke of Luke, the look of heartbreak that came over him just saying his name.

She thought then that his heart broke so badly because the love between them was unequal, but now she decides it broke like it did because the love between them was so strong. Would your heart break as badly if the same person hurt you a second time? The thought makes her grimace.

Happily ever after, she thinks. It is so rare that it would take the kind of circumstances Luke and Craig have to actually make it happen. If such a thing could happen at all.

************************

 

Polly Page has a better understanding than most people in the Northern Hemisphere of the possible horror that true love can bring. Nonetheless, she still hopes to see a happily ever after happen for someone, somewhere.

She is sitting with Reg, Des, Tony and Gary Best at refs on Wednesday. They are discussing Luke and Craig.

“Sarge is perfect for him,” she tells a grumbling Tony as they watch Luke smiling and laughing with one of the dinner ladies in the canteen.

“Sneaky bloody Taffy,” Des growls. “Just like him, sit in wait like that for two years and pounce on Baby Bright Eyes over there when he least expects it. I wouldn’t put it past the snarky old git to have been stalking him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Reg says calmly. “Gilmore wouldn’t stalk anybody. No, think about it, Des. None of us had any idea how he felt about Luke. I didn’t even know he left because of Luke.” He stops and takes a gracious sip of his tea. “I think Luke’s very lucky. Gilmore’s a very decent man.”

“Well said, Reg,” Polly smiles at him.

“I don’t know,” Tony says, disgruntled. “Luke’s so young. How old’s Gilmore? Thirty-five? He’s too old for him, and he’s..,”

“Such a bloody straight laced miserable git,” Des cuts in.

 

“That’s just not true,” Reg says. “He’s shy. He took his job seriously. None of us knows what he’s like outside.” He finishes his tea elegantly and nods over towards Luke, still laughing with the ladies at the counter. “And anyway, Luke’s twenty six. He’s more than capable of looking after himself. Look at him. He’s hardly what you’d call unhappy. I think we’d all like to think that someone would make us as happy as Luke is now.”

They’re silent for a moment, thinking of being that happy.

“But with Gaymore,” Gary whines. “How’d it be wakin’ up next to him?” He shudders at the thought of it.

“Poor Ashton,” Des agrees.

“Lucky Ashton, more like it,” Polly corrects. She leans in amongst them and lowers her voice. “Luke’s been pinin’ after the Sarge for two years, and from what I can tell it’s been mutual. Imagine, just runnin’ into eachother like that, in the middle of nowhere.” She stops and sighs. “I fink it’s dead romantic.”

“I agree,” says Reg, who turns to Des. “I could never work out why you were so down on Gilmore anyway. He never did anything to you.”

“True,” Tony concedes. “He was a pain in the arse, so to speak, but it was never personal.” 

Des thinks for a minute, and moves his seat a little when the beaming Ashton brings his tea to sit amongst them. It is tempting to give Luke a bit of an earbashing about the bad tempered Welsh git, but Luke’s beautiful countenance overwhelms even Taviner, who finds his tin heart melting in the heat of Luke’s happiness.

“So you give Luke here and his Large Sarge your blessing, Reggie babe?” Des says loudly, smiling.

Reg appears not to have heard Des, instead looks gravely at Luke.

“You know,” Reg says wisely, “it’s not very often people get a second chance at anything, let alone something as important as this. I know I speak on behalf of everybody here when I say that I hope you’ll both be very happy for a long, long time.”

 

 

 

They all stare at Reg with admiration, the sombre tone broken in a few seconds when Des reaches out, roughly grabs Reg’s head and kisses him noisily on the cheek.

“Well said, Reggie Babe,” he says to his delighted colleagues. “Doncha jest love ‘im?”

***********************

Ambo wonders about it, as he sits with Pete and Amelia and Craig in the Sarge’s office on Thursday 17th. They’re discussing the final stages of the report. Ambo’s attention comes in and out, like small waves at the bay, picking up bits and pieces about summaries and responses and submissions, but he’s not much interested. 

Vague, lateral Ambo is trying to remember when he has seen the Sarge so happy. He’s never seen the Sarge unhappy, well, not that he could tell, but he’s never seen him seem like this, bright eyed and cheerful, his hair somehow a little floppier, his skin somehow a bit brighter.

His eyes are so dark, Ambo thinks. How does he get them to shine like that if they’re so dark?

Ambo heard about Luke from Pete who heard about it from Amelia. Ambo is very happy for him – Sarge is a great bloke, worth a bunch of leeks for sure – but Ambo’s also aware of the transient nature of relationships, and the disappointment of love gone sour. Like so many coppers, he sees the evidence of it everyday.

He watches Craig closely, laughing with Pete and Amelia about something the Super said. Sarge’s waited for Luke, Ambo decides finally. He came down here to wait for him.

Ambo’s attention is suddenly hauled back onto the mainland when he realises the other three are looking at him, clearly waiting for an answer to a question he didn’t hear.

He looks at Craig’s happy face and nods, seemingly understanding all, and ready once more to confuse everybody.

“I hope it’ll be worth the wait, Sarge,” he says.

**********************

“I made you some Saturday biscuits!” Lilly says when Craig opens the door to her on the evening of Friday the 18th. “You can eat them on Sunday too! They’re for both!” And she hands him a jar of brightly coloured biscuits, all s-shaped.

“Thank you. I’ve got something for you too,” he says as she walks in. Saturday biscuits indeed.

He leaves her to put the kettle on while he goes to fetch the things his Auntie sent down for Lilly.

“My family loves your car biscuits,” he tells her as he hands over the bag.

“Do they?! I’ll have to make more! Did you have a good time?! Peggy was a dream! I shampooed her! She went fluffy and hid under your bed! What’s this!”

You shampooed my cat? Craig lets it lie.

“It’s some stuff my Grandma had. Jenny put in a good word for you when they were sorting out her things….,”

But Craig doesn’t get to finish the history of Lilly’s new blouses and the other more important item in the bag.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Lilly squeals. “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” Guippre lace! Swiss cotton! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH! Welsh tweed!!!!!”

It certainly is. Craig’s auntie had discarded a number of old blouses she had owned before long before Lilly was born, and long before Craig was born, come to think of it. The handbag strikes Craig as being something that Mary Poppins would have owned, a large soft fabric bag with a large mock tortoiseshell handle. The body of the bag is purple, green and pink tweed. The bag’s heritage is marked inside with a small emblem of the Welsh dragon. Craig thinks the bag is singularly one of the ugliest things he has ever seen.

“It is the most beautiful thing I have ever owned!!!” squeals an ecstatic Lilly. “It’s my favourite colours! Oh! It has the funny lion inside! Ooh! There’s a matching change purse! I love your auntie so much!”

Lilly keeps her new bag on her lap during her visit. Peg keeps her distance on the other side of the lounge.

“Do you remember how you said we might go to the fleamarket?! Do you think we still will?! It’s in Aldwick! It’s next Saturday! Not tomorrow, but next Saturday! Do you still want to go?!”

Craig’s mouth is full of a Saturday biscuit. They’re very good.

“Sure,” he says, “I thought I might bring a friend from London.”

“Who?! I love your friends! Gina is so cool! I love her! She could come too! How exciting! Who are they?”

How to describe him. “He’s an old friend from London. Someone I used to work with,” he says.

“A policeman!” Lilly starts to giggle. “I get a police escort to Aldwick!”

Craig laughs with her. “Well, we won’t be in uniform, but, yes, we will be watching out for your personal safety.”

Lilly looks at him carefully for a few seconds. “Is he your boyfriend?” she asks a little shyly.

“Well, yes.”

She looks at him with bright eyes. Lilly knows that boyfriends are hard to come by, especially boyfriends who like fleamarkets. “You’re so lucky! I can’t wait to meet him! I’ll make boyfriend biscuits!”

******************

The weekend was the most difficult time for both of them. Luke was out in the area car both days, while Craig was stuck on the custody desk on the two ‘til ten shift. There is nothing Craig hates more than Saturday night on the custody desk. Drunks, junkies, murderers, wife bashers, car thieves, disorderly teenagers and dangerous drivers – the whole spectrum of the criminal mind make themselves known at the custody desk on Saturday night. Craig was busy, still filling out and signing reports at 11.30 that night.

Craig wondered, halfway through the night, if he shouldn’t just drive down to London for just the night. I could leave early tomorrow morning.

Oh Christ this is unbearable, Luke thinks as he lies in bed, masturbating to the thoughts of Craig’s hot wide expanse, remembering the way he kisses, coming as he recalls the pleasure the gentle hands brings him, the perfect lips at his ear.

Luke was sound asleep in London by the time Craig got home after midnight.  
Desperate, thought Craig, soothing himself with a brisk hand in the shower before he went to bed, thinking of Luke’s smooth chest, the glittering nipple ring, the way he pulls Craig’s face into his own to kiss. Desperate for him.

Desperate, thought Luke in the shower at 5.15 on Sunday morning, stroking himself with a somewhat slower hand. Miss him so badly.

Monday was the slowest day. Craig had his shift changed to start at 10am, and he wouldn’t recover the lost sleep until Luke arrived. Luke was on foot patrol, wanting nothing more than to sit on a fence in the rain and think about Craig until his shift was over.

By Tuesday both of them were stalking like panthers, hungry for eachother. Text messages flew back and forth, initially sweet and reserved, then a little suggestive, and by lunchtime Wednesday, when they really only had about another eight hours until they could meet up, the messages were positively X rated.

Luke had to see Gary the counsellor before he left London, and wasn’t sure what train he would be on. In keeping with the sorts of small irritants that hinder these kinds of stories, Luke missed the train by seconds and sat mooching on Victoria station for fifty minutes. He’ll think I’m not coming, I won’t be able to find him.

Craig waited, leaning against his car in the cold, feeling like his muscles were were draining. He stood and concentrated on his feet on the asphalt, blocking out the noise of commuters moving around him.

When they spotted eachother neither acted if anything was untoward.

“Sorry I’m late,” Luke said casually as he approached Craig. “You been waiting long?”

“No,” Craig lied. “Few minutes.” Try an hour and a half.

Luke threw his bag in the back of the car, and walked back towards Craig, who was still leaning against the passenger door, rigid.

“I thought we could go to dinner. Change your mind about ducks,” he said to Luke. Then the pleasure of seeing eachother again lights up their skins, and they draw each other in with their eyes. Crowds of commuters milled around the carpark, all failing to notice this intense meeting.

“I’d love dinner. I’m really hungry,” Luke answered, standing in front of Craig. Then without any kind of indication from either of them, they took eachother in their arms and kissed long and deep. I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you, they tell each other with kisses and no words.

The only person who noticed amongst the hundreds of people toing and froing at the busy station was an elderly lady called Francis, a devout Presbyterian and crochet enthusiast who thought that, while it was rather sexy, their public display was somewhat in bad taste, it. But she plays no part in this story so who cares what she thinks.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Luke said softly.

“Hmm. So glad to see you too,” Craig replied, kissing his temple.

Then in a lather of testosterone and unmitigated longing they went to the Seabay, where they ate shredded potato and garlic, the crispy skin duck, hand made noodles in the special sour sauce, green vegetables in garlic and the legendary Seabay dumplings – the vegetarian and the pork varieties – which they dipped in the potent chilli sauce.

The service at the Seabay is very quick, which is obviously why Craig chose it. When they arrived back at his flat just over two hours later they barely got the door closed behind them before they fell all over eachother.

Missed you, missed you, love you, they say over and over, mashing their mouths up against eachother, eyes half closed and glazed as Craig walks backwards into his bedroom, Luke all over him, not able to kiss hard enough or close enough, bumping into walls, grabbing at each other. Craig falls back on his bed and Luke falls on top of him, clambering over him on all fours, grabbing at his clothes, gobbling at his mouth, I missed you so badly. Craig rolls him over, their clothes only half undone, tugging at Luke’s shirt while Luke pulls at Craig’s jumper and when their bare chests touch it seems to calm them a little, their kisses become softer and longer, they undress a little more slowly, whimpering at each other when their erections brush together.

“Not going to last,” Luke gasps, clasping Craig’s hand around his throbbing cock, and in a matter of seconds Luke appreciates once more the distinct advantage of an older experienced lover.

“I love you so much,” Craig whispers to him as he comes, convinced he’s more in love than he was last week.

Luke didn’t even see Peg, who was no more than twenty feet from him, until the following morning.

“Hello, Craig’s cat,” he whispered to her early the next morning, on his way back to bed after finding the bathroom without waking Craig. Peg slowly opened her limey eyes and looked at the unfamiliar young man, crouched down naked in front of the couch where she was sleeping.

Have we met? she wonders, delicately sniffing at the air around him.

Luke slipped back into the warm bed next to the hot still shape of Craig.

“You awake?” Luke says quietly to him. Nothing.

Well, let’s have a look at you, Sarge, he thought, taking the advantage of checking over the big man while he slept. Luke hadn’t had a naked encounter with Craig that didn’t include sex, and hadn’t yet the opportunity to see his body quiet and relaxed.

He slipped the duvet down over Craig’s shoulders, watching his face in the half-light to check he didn’t wake him. Craig lay three-quarters turned to Luke, his face hanging down slightly, one arm draped loosely over his chest, the other slung haphazardly above his head.

Luke propped himself up on his elbow, and started at the lovely pale skin under Craig’s arm. He ran his eyes over to his shoulder, and stopped to barely touch the dark thatch of hair. Fine, thought Luke, noticing the well-developed muscle that ran from the pit of his arms down his torso. He took his hand back and looked at his throat, the firm still Adam’s apple, the small dip at the top his sternum. For the first time Luke noticed the pattern in which the light coat of body hair grew, around his deltoids, thinning over his belly, the delicate dark snail trail that knitted around the deep navel, down to his pubic hair. Luke gingerly moved the duvet back further, but the movement of the warm cover disturbed Craig, and he shifted slightly while Luke lay quiet and still, watching the man roll away and settle over the other side, his legs stretched out, his arms now tucked around in front of him, his broad back facing Luke.

Luke pulled the cover a little, and looked down the full length of the strong hard back, the bright straight scars visible in the weak light. Luke traces them with his fingers, and is filled with a sudden rush of love for him, remembering Craig bruised and beaten in the hospital bed. He leans in and kisses the hot skin, and Craig shuffles slightly again in his sleep, half waking to the feel of Luke next to him.

He turns back around and closes in on Luke, trapping him underneath him before slinking back in to a deep sleep.

The size of him, Luke smiles to himself, moving as best he can so he can breathe.

Luke is sound asleep when Craig wakes up a few hours later in the clear light, his face only inches from Luke’s. It is one of the best moments of his life, realising where he was and who was next to him and why. He reaches out to touch Luke’s quiet face and hesitates for a moment before he remembers that he can now touch Luke without fear or favour.

He shifts over slightly and gently strokes Luke’s chin with the ball of his thumb. Luke rolls a little on his belly, his arm bent under him. Craig pushes his luck a little further, and gently takes a small kiss off the slightly open mouth, and still Luke doesn’t stir. Cute, Craig thinks, and pushes his luck a bit more, tugging down the duvet to look at his body, running his hands over Luke’s muscly arse, lightly striking his thumb down the cleft.

Luke’s eyes flicker for a brief second, and when he half realises it is Craig touching him, he smiles and pushes himself into Craig’s body. Craig can feel the squashy flaccid genitals against his thigh, a little cooler than the rest of him, endlessly frail and soft.

“You asleep?” he asks Luke hopefully, softly, and he’s answered by the faint rush of the waves in the background.

*********************

They spend the next two days like this, finding out pieces of one another when the other’s not paying attention. Even though they are both on their best behaviour, they pick up dozens of tiny clues about eachother and their ways.

Luke’s gabby, Craig learns, he likes to talk and ask questions and discuss.

Craig listens closely, Luke learns, he pays attention and understands what I’m saying. He really does know what I mean.

He’s tidy, really tidy, Craig learns. He knows how to rinses dishes before you wash them and he knows how to make the bed.

He’s a really good cook, Luke learns quickly. I can learn from him.

He’s a good eater, Craig learns happily. I can try anything on him.

He’s really, really funny, Luke learns. He’s even funnier than I thought.

He’s really, really funny, Craig learns. Silly funny. Enjoys a laugh.

He’s affectionate, Luke learns. He likes touching me. He doesn’t pull away when I grab onto him.

He’s affectionate, Craig learns. He’s really honest about sharing affection. Demonstrative. Nice.

He’s gentle, Luke learns. He’s not going to push me or badger me in bed.

He’s still a bit wound up in bed, Craig learns. Plenty of time to warm him up. He’ll get used to me.

He even listens in bed, Luke learns as Craig pays attention, breathing heavy, when Luke offers details about a few interesting ideas.

He’s even gabby in bed, Craig learns as he listens to Luke open up as they make love, offering suggestions, noting appreciations.

He’s wild, Luke learns as Craig follows Luke’s directions to the letter.

He’s even better than I hoped, they both decide on Friday night, lying bound up and smeared with each other in bed, sharing tired soft kisses as they lull each other to sleep.

**********************

“I don’t know, fifteen or sixteen,” Craig tells Luke on Saturday morning when he asks about Lilly. They’re having a second cup of coffee on the window ledge together. They sit facing each other, dressed but feet still bare, their toes touching. Their familiarity is growing; they are latching onto each other in countless little ways.

“Why does she hang around with you?”

“She doesn’t ‘hang around’ me, she feeds my cat when I’m away.”

“But you said she makes you biscuits.” 

“Yeah, well, she does, I suppose.”

“What do her parents think?”

“I’ve only met them once or twice. They’ve got four other kids under six, so I don’t think they think much at all.”

“They don’t think you’re a weirdo?” Luke watches him to see his reaction.

“No!” Craig seems horrified. “They think I’m a copper who pays one of their kids to feed my cat.”

“They don’t care that you go shopping with her?”

Craig rolls his eyes. “You make it sound like I buy her negligees. I took her to this market once. Gina was with me.”

Luke thinks for a moment.

“What exactly is a negligee?”

Craig shrugs. “No idea.” Craig decides to test Luke’s understanding of a similar area. “Do you know what a brazillian is?”

Luke grimaces. “It’s a terrible bikini waxing thing women pay a fortune for.”

Craig grimaces back at him. Jenny was right. He didn’t want to know.

“The view here is great. I s’pose you sit her all the time, when you’re at home.” Luke idly wriggles his toes against Craig’s, seeing if he might be able to interlock them, they way they do their fingers.

“Sometimes. But if I’ve got the time, I usually like to walk it, rather than sit here and look at it.” Craig is trying to spread his toes apart, but they are not as flexible as Luke’s. 

“We should do that this afternoon if we’ve got time, or tomorrow, go for a walk in the other direction, along the coast.” They’ve already walked in three directions to or from or along the coast, taking in the endless miles of the now quiet bed and breakfasts, the lumps of coloured sweets in the shorefront shops and the miles of steel grey ocean that seems to follow them.

“Sure,” Craig smiles. He stands up and takes Luke’s empty mug from him.

“Is he here?!! Lilly whispers to Craig when she arrives at his door a few minutes later.

Craig nods, noticing as he lets her in that her curls have changed colour since he saw her a few days ago.

“Luke, this is Lilly.”

She hands Craig a plastic container of what he believes to be gingerbread men, all decorated in pink, green and purple icing. She has a pink, green and purple curl picked out in her hair, and is wearing a black turtle neck sweater, one of Craig’s auntie’s cotton blouses over the top of it tied tight tightly at her waspish adolescent waist, a heavy black watch kilt fastened by a diamante brooch, back tights and black boots, and her pink earmuffs. Her leopard skin coat is draped over her arm, and she carries the odd collection of essentials teenage girls lug about in the pink, green and purple Welsh tweed bag. Her smile is large and warm, and emphasises the green mascara that she is wearing.

“Hello!!” she says to Luke. Well, she thinks, what a nice boyfriend!! “I made boyfriend biscuits! We can eat them on the way! I’m so excited! I hardly slept last night! You’re different than what I thought! Craig says you like markets too! You’ll love this one! It’s huge! Let’s go now!” And thus Lilly bursts into Luke’s life in a flash of brilliant colour and sets her path to becoming one of his closest lifelong friends.

“She talks a lot,” Luke remarks to Craig later as they wander the stalls together, a few paces behind Lilly. “I really like her.”

“She talks continuously,” Craig answers, stopping to look at some old crystal glasses. 

“Fifty five quid,” he says to Luke, who is standing next to him. “They’re nice.”

Luke picks up one of the glasses and lightly runs his fingers around the rim. “Nope,” he says, “It’s been filed. Feel.”

Craig runs a sensitive fingertip around the rim as Luke just has, and feels a small jarring roughness on a couple spots of the rim.

“They’re frail, those old glasses, and the rim’s the first part to chip,” Luke explains. “Dealers file them back with really fine sandpaper and you don’t notice unless you feel them. They’re worthless if they’ve been chipped.”

Craig is exceptionally impressed. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Alex used to file glasses all the time,” Luke says quickly.

Still, thinks Craig. My clever gorgeous boy.

They catch up to Lilly who is flirting wildly with a misshapen young man selling garish jewellery and some odd pieces of clothing.

“Love your bag,” he says hopefully to Lilly. Craig hovers nearby, watching out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s Welsh tweed,” Lilly answers coolly, her green eyelashes sweeping her cheek. She then proceeds to barter with the hapless young man who doesn’t stand a chance, and knocks eighteen quid off the total for three pairs of earrings, a Stewart dress tartan kilt and a leopard skin belt.

“You drive a mean bargain,” Luke tells her admiringly as they walk on, the young man watching her from behind. “How many kilts do you need?

“I’m having a kilt moment! I love British fabrics! I want to make things out of tweed and tartan! You can never have too many kilts! I love boys in kilts! You and Craig could wear kilts! You’d look fabulous!”

“I’m not wearing kilts,” Craig snarls when Luke looks at him.

“Welsh thing,” Luke whispers to Lilly, loudly enough for Craig to hear.

Luke and Lilly laugh, and she wanders off to look at a stall selling fabric and lace. She watches them both walk slowly ahead, and sees Luke gently slip a couple of warm fingers into Craig’s hand, idly stroking his palm, and she sees Craig look at Luke in a way she barely recognises.

Lilly’s view of happily ever had been tempered for some time by her weary squabbling parents. Luke’s tender gesture, and Craig’s response, marked indelibly for her the fact that, to paraphrase a great author, while whole futures can’t be completely happy, single days can. 

Maybe the trick to happily ever after is to just get as many of those single happy days as you can, Lilly thinks that night as she stitches lace on her new kilt.

 

Chapter 35⅞ 

We saw the whole of the moon

 

There are many sweet signals lovers give one another to indicate the integrity of their intentions at the beginning of relationships.

There’s the first excited phonecall, or the first time one mentions casually to the other that they’ve told their friends about you, the off-hand suggestion that you must meet my family, the discreet enquiry about what you’re doing next weekend and the weekend after that.

And there’s the music compilation. It is almost the trademark of the first throes of love. One partner will compile a collection of their favourite songs for the other, who plays it until they can recite the order of the songs backwards in their sleep.

Luke spent his first night without Craig diligently sorting through his rather outre music collection, and burnt off what he considered to be a perfect musical representation of how he felt for him.

He put it in the internal police mail on Tuesday, and it arrived in Craig’s in-tray on Wednesday morning, the careful handwriting on the yellow envelope standing out like a ruby amongst gravel against the dull invoices and timesheets.

There are fourteen songs in all, and it is number fourteen that Craig loves best.

I pictured a rainbow  
You held it in your hands  
I had flashes  
You saw the plan  
I wandered out in the world for years  
While you stayed in your room  
I saw the crescent  
You saw the whole of the moon.

It’s the Waterboys’ marvellous song, The Whole of the Moon. Luke included other interesting pertinent pieces – Ben Harper’s I Don’t Want to Live Alone, Michael Andrew’s moody version of Mad World, the Lightning Seeds Pure and The Cure’s Why Can’t I Be You, all of which Craig enjoys, but it is the last track that Craig listens to over and over.

*********************

“So, do you like it here?” Craig asks Luke on the Saturday night as they sit on the beach in the dark, eating fish and chips. It’s freezing; Craig is sitting up against the seawall, and Luke is leaning against Craig. They sky is black and clear and studded with thousands of stars while the air is so cold it sparkles, dulling with their breath when they speak. They are wrapped in heavy coats and dense woollen scarves, their ears stinging in the frigid air.

“I love it here,” Luke tells him as he breaks off a bit of battered cod and pops it in Craig’s mouth.

They sit chattering in the cold over their meal, relishing the privacy and the elements.

“How long do you want to sit here and freeze?” Craig asks, sucking a little bit of salt from Luke’s finger after they’ve finished the food.

“All night,” Luke says, settling back in against Craig’s warm body.

“We should have brought a blanket,” Craig notes, moving forward and wrapping himself tighter around Luke. They rub their numbing faces together, gently crushing eachother’s greasy lips with cold kisses, the sound of the English Channel bashing on the stones in front of them. 

“I hate being so far away from you,” Luke says to him.

“It’s really hard, isn’t it,” Craig agrees.

They push their cold faces into one another’s necks, blocking out the cold world around them for a few seconds.

“We can’t stay separated like this. I’ll go blind!”

Craig laughs with him. “Me too.”

They’re quiet for a moment, taking comfort from the warmth they generate between them, sharing more fat little tender kisses, slowly stitching up seams of closeness and intimacy. 

“Do you think you might come back to London when your project’s finished?” Luke asks presently.

Although he had initially thought he should wait a while, Craig decides to tell him of the possibility of moving of Edinburgh or Leeds or Birmingham.

“Edinburgh,” Luke says.

“Edinburgh. That’s where you wanted to do that course, isn’t it?” He knows it is.

“Yeah. I was thinking of going there anyway. You know, if I didn’t get into college, transfer in the force up there.”

 

They shiver against one another, and rub their faces together again. Craig takes Luke’s hands and rubs them in his own, holding the cold fingers to his lips and coating them with his warm breath.

“What’ll you think will happen for us?” Luke asks in the dark.

“I don’t know,” he answers softly into Luke’s ear. “I don’t know what we should do. What do you think?”

Luke hears the thud of Craig’s heart in one ear, and the wash of the sea in the other.

“You know, when I first found out you were seeing that press officer guy, I pretty much gave up on ever seeing you again, so I tried to work out what kind of relationship I wanted. I couldn’t work out what I wanted with you. You know?”

Craig nods, encouraging him. “Go on.”

“Well, I mean, all I knew was that I wanted to be with you. It didn’t matter where, or even what I was doing. It was just being with you.” Luke stops and looks at Craig. “So that’s what I hope will happen. That we’ll just be together.”

“‘The whole of the moon’” Craig suggests.

“Yeah!” Luke says brightly, “that’s what I mean. You know, to be really brave and just be together.”

“Happily ever after?” Craig smiles, squeezing Luke to keep warm.

Luke shrugs. “Do you believe in that?”

“I guess it depends what you think happy is. If you mean cherubs are going to come and nest in our bedroom, and nothing will ever go wrong, no, I don’t. But I do think you can be happy with someone you love for a long time if you’re both prepared to accept the good bits and the bad bits.”

“The whole of the moon,” Luke says. “I wonder if that will happen for us?”

Well, don’t we all.

Chapter 36  
Four Kinds of Marmalade

“But the man who can most truly be accounted brave is he who best knows the meaning of what is sweet in life and what is terrible, and then goes out undeterred to meet what is to come.”

Thucidydides  
History of the Peloponnesian War

 

“Gilmore!” Luke calls out to Craig, cheerful as he brings him toast and coffee on the Sunday morning. “There are four kinds of marmalade in your kitchen!”

Craig is sitting up in his bed, waiting for the breakfast Luke has promised four times in the last ninety minutes as he rolled in bed with him. They have been playing and teasing all morning, excited by how good the relationship seems to be, revelling in one another’s company.

“About time,” he says when Luke arrives with a plate of toast and two cups of coffee.

“You can make your own breakfast in future,” he says, pretending to be huffy as he settles on the bed in front of Craig. “Why do you need four kinds of marmalade? Not that I’m surprised, of course.”

Craig smiles at him, taking a piece of toast. He checks that it is covered with the quantity of jam he prefers, and then raises his eyebrows at Luke in agreement.

“Well, that’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

“What’s the point? That I put enough jam on sir’s bloody toast?”

“No, that you’re not surprised I have four kinds of marmalade.”

“Now you’re just being weird,” Luke says as he sips his coffee.

“Nothing weird about it. It’s my theory of relationships. Incidentally, sir is happy to report that the application of marmalade is excellent.”

“Well, I can die happy now,” Luke says. And when Craig doesn’t say anything, Luke takes the bait. “Well come on,” he says, leaning forward to Craig and smiling. “Tell me your theory of relationships.”

“Too late. Moment’s gone,” Craig says, eyes shining.

“Don’t play hard to get with me,” Luke says. And still Craig says nothing, just eats his toast, smiling to himself.

Luke’s learning how to play with him though, even this early in the relationship.

“I really want to hear it,” Luke assures him, his eyes earnest.

“Really?” Craig checks, leaning forward in the same eager way.

“I don’t think I’m going to be get through the rest of this weekend unless you tell me.”

Craig’s eyes flash. At this stage he has a slightly better understanding of how to play with Luke. Craig waits.

“Oh just bloody tell me!” Luke says after a few seconds, and they both laugh.

“I think that good relationships are based on the things you sense about a person when you first meet them. You just said that you’re not surprised that I’ve got a selection of marmalade, but you wouldn’t have thought about it if I never mentioned marmalade. You sensed it.”

Luke sits still and stares at him over his coffee.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” he says.

“It’s simple!” Craig insists, popping the last piece of crust in his mouth. “You sense things about a person. You know, you feel it in your heart first, before you actually know it. All good relationships have it. You just feel things about a person and they’re confirmed as you get to know them.”

Luke stares a bit more. “You’re a loony,” he says definitely.

“Did you sense some things about me when you first met me?”

Luke nods. “Not all of them were good things though, Sarge,” he smiles.

“But were they right?”

Luke thinks for a minute, perusing the plate of toast and taking another piece that is spread with Marmite.

“The good things were,” he concedes.

“And so you think we’re having a good relationship?”

“Well, since its only been going for fourteen days, yes, I do.”

Craig is thrilled that Luke is still counting the days.

“Well, I’m right.”

Luke curls his lip at him. “It’s a pretty flimsy theory, sweetheart.”

“I like it.” Craig says curtly, pretending he’s miffed.

Luke picks a piece of marmaladed toast from the plate and places it in Craig’s mouth. “Got any more theories?” he asks, hoping to be further entertained.

“Thousands.”

“Fabulous. Let’s have ‘em.”

“Which one do you want?”

“One that makes a bit of sense would be good.”

Craig thinks for a minute. “How about my electrical appliance theory?”

“I’m lovin’ your electrical appliance theory,” Luke says, laughing. “Do tell.” His skin glows, the tiny specks of freckles like stars across his nose. So beautiful, Craig thinks as he beams at him.

“Well, I think,"

“Tell me what you think, sweetheart.”

Craig stops and looks at him, and then they both laugh.

Luke leans in and feigns desperation. “I can’t wait much longer.”

Craig takes a sip of his coffee. “This is very good,” he says seriously to Luke.

“Thank you. I’m here to please.”

“Hmm, well that you do. Now do you want to hear my great theory?”

“I’m gagging to hear your great theory. Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

“I think,” he starts, while Luke looks attentive, “that a relationship is like setting up a major electrical appliance.”

“Oh, that’s great, that is,” Luke says, bursting out laughing.

It’s infectious, and soon Craig can’t stop laughing. Luke takes his coffee and places it on the bedside table. They roll around again, Craig spluttering trying to get his theory out, Luke keeping him inches from actually doing it.

They’re very much in love.

**********************

But Craig’s right. Good relationships are like major electrical appliances. They can be confusing and difficult to get going. And, unfortunately, good relationships don’t come with manuals.

Our heroes started their relationship with a couple of major cords firmly in place. There were a few other wires that needed to be wedged back into their sockets.

Some important wiring, as we saw a few chapters back, had been torn loose and major repairs were required.

Then there were the wires they didn’t recognise that took ages to set in place.

And as time went along, they upgraded and got other wires to keep everything operating at optimum performance levels.

**********************

“NO, no, please don’t keep me waiting a second longer,” Luke squeaks in between peals of laughter as they tip each other across the bed, “I really want to hear your theory.”

“Well,” Craig looks at him with shiny eyes, one hand closed across Luke’s mouth to shut him up, “first thing, you have to put the getting to know you wires in place.”

The-getting-to-know-you wiring code

In their first month together, Luke and Craig learnt more about each other in a couple of weekends than they ever knew in seven months of working together.

“Ashton’s shower consultations”, as Craig privately dubbed them, was one of Craig’s first big revelations. Luke liked to come and speak with him about while he showered. There were no pressing issues, no urgency - he just liked talking to Craig while he showered. When he’d step out Luke would be waiting with a towel. This was an occasional feature that Craig would enjoy over the entire course of their relationship.

“The Sarge’s Stubborn Streak”, was one of Luke’s first discoveries.

 

He’s not as stubborn as I thought, Luke thought in those early days, but he soon learnt otherwise. 

Craig needed to eat three times a day. Luke found out very quickly that if a meal was even half an hour out, Craig would become agitated. He doesn’t like eating in between meals, and Luke believes this complicates matters.

“You’re supposed to graze all day, keep your blood sugar up,” Luke tells him. 

“I’m not a cow. If you eat properly at each meal you shouldn’t have to graze,” Craig argues. 

“You burn energy all the time! You have to keep giving your body stuff to burn!” Luke insists.

“If you give it enough to burn when you have a main meal, you don’t have to keep giving it stuff all day.”

“You’re just wrong!” Luke says finally.

“I’m not,” Craig says, more finally.

“Look, I’ll help you choose your grazing food and you’ll see that you need it, and that you don’t get as hungry as you are every meal time!”

“I don’t need grazing food. I just need a meal three times a day.”

“And what about Lilly’s biscuits? That’s food you have outside meals!” Luke is delighted. Got him now, he thinks.

Oh, no you haven’t. “They’re not food. They’re biscuits. They don’t count.” And he stares at Luke calmly, reasonably, utterly victorious.

And that’s how Luke learnt that stubborn is actually an understatement when describing Craig’s immobility on particular topics.

And then there were Luke’s blind spots, as Craig called them, the times he would just not hear, or fail to pay attention, or just not be interested and create whole gaps in narratives and conversations.

“Whose that guy?” Luke asked when they were watching Sixth Sense, curled up together on Craig’s couch, late one night.

“That’s her father.”

“Why’s he crying?”

“It’s his daughter’s funeral.”

“The vomiting kid?”

“Yeah.”

“Was she dead?”

“Are we watching the same film?” Craig asks him.

“I can’t work out who’s dead and who’s not.”

It’s a good point. “The dead ones look dead,” Craig says helpfully.

Luke considers this, and is quiet until the end of the film. He is thinking about counsellors and psychologists.

“Why did his wedding ring fall off?” Luke asks at the end of the film.

“It didn’t – his wife was…” and then he realises there is no point. “He was dead,” Craig says.

“Bruce Willis?”

Craig nods.

“He didn’t look dead,” Luke remarks. “Is his wife dead too?”

“Just shut up,” Craig says.

“What other film did you get?” Luke asks, as he flicks through the DVDs on the floor. “Oh! The Crying Game! That’s supposed to great! Can we watch it now?”

“You don’t watch them! You just look at them and then make me tell you what happens!” Craig says, exasperated.

Luke smiles at him. “I like your versions better.”

Then there’s "The Look", as Luke calls it. The way Craig looks at him, silent, intense, almost calculating. Luke saw the look often when Craig was his Sergeant, but he assumed it was a disciplinary measure.

He learns that it is in fact a reaction when Craig feels that no verbal communication is warranted.

“What’s for dinner?” Luke asks when he comes from the beach on a Thursday evening. Craig is dipping some kind of meat into beaten eggs, then coating them with crumbs before he lays the fillets in a shallow pan.

*********************************

“Chicken in pyjamas,” Luke hears him say. He stands dumbstruck for a moment, and suddenly sees a barnyard of chickens, strutting around in little floral cotton nighties.

Craig turns around when Luke doesn’t respond, and sees his boyfriend staring at him, smiling a little.

“What?”

“Chicken in pyjamas?” Luke checks.

Craig gives him "The Look". He stands back from the food and holds up a limp piece of white meat. It is of no assistance to Luke, who continues to smile vaguely. His imagination is crippled by chickens in nighties.

“Chicken parmegiana,” Craig says clearly, and gives him one more Look for good measure.

Late that night in bed, Luke is asleep face down on Craig’s right shoulder, snorting a little as his breathing is obstructed. Craig gently eases him off and settles him down close beside him. Chicken in pyjamas, he smiles to himself, and softly kisses the top of Luke’s head. 

****************************

“Then what?” Luke asks, growing interested in the concepts of cords.

“The hard bit,” Craig tells him with a serious face.

“Fights?” Luke asks tentatively.

“Worse,” Craig says, smiling a little to let him know this is not serious. “Family.”

 

The you-have-to meet-my family-wiring code

“I heard you met my mother,” Luke says dryly when he rings Craig after they spend their second weekend together in Luke’s flat. Luke again had left for work early, Craig left for Brighton an hour or so later.

Craig makes an odd guttural groaning sound, and, even this far away, Luke feels his face turn vermilion.

“Mum was very impressed,” Luke continues.

Craig can’t think of anything to say.

“I suppose I should have told you that she might drop in to the flat this morning,” Luke continues. “Oh, hang on,” he says, clearly enjoying this, “I did, didn’t I?”

Craig is silent, though smiling at Luke’s evident pleasure, still shamed at walking out of Luke’s shower naked, and straight into Luke’s mother.

“You must be Craig,” she had said to him nicely, looking at his lovely eyes, even attractive when they were filled with horror. Clever lucky Luke, she though to herself.

“We have a bit of thing with showers, you and I, don’t we?” Luke says.

“I told her I was sorry,” Craig says.

“Hmmm. She said that, but she said you didn’t have to be.” Luke pauses for a minute. “She reckons she’s proud that I have better taste in men than her.”

After they found one another, Craig and Luke only ever spent one Christmas apart.

They had been a couple for just on six weeks. Luke had to work on Christmas day again, and Craig would be back from Wales on the 28th. Luke had to kill two days without him.

Merry Xmas darling I miss you xxx

Craig texted him on Christmas morning. It made the day in the CAD room just bearable for Luke. Nothing made the day bearable for Craig, who missed Luke sorely.

“Busy day?” Craig said to him that night when he called.

“Usual – you know, the drunken Christmas dinner fights, d&d’s looking for a cell for the night,” Luke answered. “Is it snowing down there?”

“It’s raining. Jenny’s beating everyone at Monopoly. My Grandmother’s talking about going on another world trip. Usual.”

“Sounds nice,” Luke said.

“Oh, bugger this, Luke,” Craig said, seemingly out of the blue. “Why don’t you just get on a train and come down? “

So the next evening Luke is standing in Craig’s parents’ kitchen, washing the dinner dishes with him. Jenny, who has not seen Luke since she ran into him at the Camden Markets so long ago now, has been gently baiting him since he arrived, checking to see how brave he really is.

She is standing at the entrance to the kitchen, wearing her father’s thermal long johns, Craig’s Cardiff rugby jersey and Graham’s socks. Graham is standing next her. He has on his head a toy fireman’s hat, which belongs to his three-year-old son Isaac. Isaac is wriggling in Graham’s arms, watching his funny auntie. Graham’s wife Kathy, who Craig doesn’t like, is standing nervously beside her husband and son. Both husband and wife are very curious about Luke.

“One game, Ashton,” Jenny says to him. “If you’re so brave, just play one game with me. “

Luke has never played monopoly in his life, but is not about to make this glaring lack known to Craig’s family.

“I’m washing up. And I don’t like monopoly,” he answers mildly.

“So bugger off,” Craig tells her with a smile.

“Yeah, that’ll be right. Now you start, you sore bloody loser.”

Craig turns around, tea towel in hand, leering at her. “Oh, what are you going to do, pull my pigtails?”

Luke wipes his hands on the towel Craig’s holding. “Sounds like you’re the loser,” he says to her, “no one wants to play with you.”

Craig laughs, and so does Graham. Kathy watches nervously.

Jenny launches into one of her tirades, playful and laughing, and Craig silently draws Luke against him, so that they’re both facing her, and whispers in his ear, watching his sister with shining eyes.

“Oh, don’t, Craig,” Graham says to him, knowing what he telling Luke. Kathy looks more nervous.

“Oh, don’t you bloody dare,” Jenny warns him.

Luke’s face lights up with malicious glee, and Jenny, who looks ready to strike, suddenly notices the way they are holding each other. Craig has his arms wrapped across Luke’s chest, so he can swiftly swing him out of the way should Jenny launch at him, and Luke has his hands hooked over Craig’s arms, prepared to take the full brunt of her fury should she launch at Craig.

Luke lowers his face his face slightly, briefly bites his bottom lip and looks straight at her.

“Shut up, Guinevere,” he tells her. 

Craig’s silent father walks past just in time to see his daughter, in his underwear, launching at his oldest son who is holding his hysterical English boyfriend out of her way, while his younger son, still wearing a toy fireman’s helmet, tries to disengage her. None of them are getting anywhere because they’re all laughing so hard. Isaac cheers them on from the floor.

“Don’t they make you proud?” his wife asks him.

He nods. “They bring tears to my eyes,” he says shortly. 

*********************************

“So, we get to know each other, we meet our families…what next, Professor Sarge?” Luke is sitting up on the unmade bed; Craig is stretched across him with his head in his lap.

“Plans. We have to get the plans cords in place.”

“What? Like for next weekend? You’re coming to my place, aren’t you?” Luke looks a little worried.

“Yep. But bigger plans. Short term and long term.”

The let’s-make-short-term-plans-wiring code.

Years later, when they can look back on the early days, Luke and Craig agree that their first seven months was actually the second hardest part of their relationship.

Finding each other again so unexpectedly meant, for organised poofs, that they had no agenda at all. Their very rigid lifestyles had to be re-cut and re-sewn in order to accommodate each other.

They’re lying in Luke’s bed, mid January, cuddling one another as the snow falls outside.

“It’s just so hard,” Luke tells Craig for the thousandth time. “I miss you all the time.”

“Well, what do you want to do?” Craig asks for the thousandth time. Luke is lying against him, and Craig has his arms wrapped around him.

“I don’t know,” Luke says truthfully.

“Okay,” Craig says, rubbing his chin gently on Luke’s short hair, “what do you want?”

“I want to see you more often. I want to come home of a night and see you. I want to wake up and have you snoring beside me every day.”

“I don’t snore,” Craig says. “Do I snore?”

“A little,” Luke smiles up at him. “Nice snoring. Like a badger.”

“How do you know how badgers snore?”

“I saw a thing on telly about badgers with sleeping problems,” Luke explains. Craig feels that Luke perhaps misunderstood the actual theme of the program, but doesn’t pursue it.

“How do they snore?” Craig wonders.

“Like you.” Luke says briefly. “Bugger the badgers. I hate being apart. Now you tell me what you want.”

“I want to wake up snoring like a badger next to you,” Craig says. “We have to work it out, then, if you want to hear me snoring every day.” He thinks for a bit. Luke, meanwhile, starts lightly tugging the hairs on Craig’s chest, one by one.

“That doesn’t actually feel very pleasant,” he tells Luke after about twenty little sharp tugs.

“Now you’ve made me loose count,” Luke scolds.

Craig scratches the irritated skin where Luke was doing his stocktaking. “Well,” he says, “when I go to this meeting next Tuesday, I’ll have a better idea if I can go to Edinburgh. Maybe that’s what we should plan to do – Edinburgh.”

“When would that be?” Luke asks, sneaking his fingers in amongst Craig’s chest hair again.

“June, July maybe,” he says, clamping his hand over Luke’s.

“Move to Scotland together?”

“Yeah, move to Scotland together.”

“Live together,” Luke checks.

Craig nods. “Live and snore together.”

Luke frees his hand and winds both arms around Craig, settling in closer.

“Okay,” he says, contented with this outline of a plan.

The next morning, Craig wakes rubbing his chest against a slight stinging feeling, as if he has been stung by millions of tiny wasps. Luke is sitting up next him, smiling,

“One hundred and seventy one to your belly button,” Luke tells him.

The let’s-make-long-term-plans-together wiring code

The Community Relations Co-ordination Committee agrees to set up a Project Management Committee, a Community Relations Police Liaison Team and several smaller collections of police bureaucrats to instigate the much larger Community Relations Interview Project – CRIP – as it is now known. They keep Craig hanging on the threads of his nerves for three weeks before they agree he can transfer to supervise aspects of the project from Edinburgh.

“We nearly ended up in Leeds,” he tells Luke as they walk through Alexandra Park in early February. 

Luke has never been to Leeds. He is at a loss, without Bartholomews Road Atlas of Great Britain (1956), to put it in perspective. He is thinking about University.

“So what do you think?” Craig asks him as they sit down on bench in the cold. It is misty; both men are wrapped up in scarves and heavy coats.

“I guess I’ll have to get in my application for the Social Work course, then,” he says a little apprehensively.

“You don’t seem very sure,” Craig notices.

“I’m not. I mean, I really want to go with you, I really want to do the course, but I don’t want to find out that I’m too thick to do it,” he answers without looking up.

“Don’t think like that,” Craig says gently. “You’re not thick.”

“I am a bit thick.”

Craig shakes his head. He draws Luke over to him with one arm. “You’re not thick. I think it is true to say that you have a unique way of looking at things, but you’re not thick.” He kisses the top of Luke’s cold head.

So Luke applies to the University of Edinburgh to undertake a Bachelor’s Degree in Social Work as a mature student. The thought of being thought of as mature age pleases Luke, always the baby, enormously.

“What do you think his chances are?” Craig asks Jenny a few weeks later. She helped Luke with his application, and is currently tutoring him for the interview.

“Hard to say. I mean, on the basis of his practical skills, he’s a shoe in,” she tells her brother. “But in terms of academic achievements, he’s pretty thin on the ground.”

Craig is silent on the other end of the line. It stings a bit, to hear this assessment.

“Look, I’m not criticising. You asked me and I telling you. It’s a hard course – four years’ worth, and he has to cover a lot of really complicated texts. The practical work he could do on his ear, but I think he’ll struggle a bit with the essays and the reading. That’s not to say he can’t do it. But I think, just on what I saw, that he’d find it hard. “

Craig is still silent.

“Stop giving me the silent treatment. You were his boss for months. You’d have to have some idea what his skills are.”

“Yeah,” Craig says sullenly.

“Well, he’s not stupid, and his emotional intelligence is very high. But a reader and writer he is not,” Jenny says succinctly.

Craig goes to Edinburgh with Luke for the interview in May. He takes the opportunity to visit his new boss – an aggressive brisk woman called Very Mckenna – and to get his bearings at the station where he starts in late August. 

“How’d you go?” he asks Luke when he finds him, and some squirrels, at the Edinburgh monument early in the afternoon.

“Okay, I think,” he smiles, squinting at Craig in the sun. “You?”

“Scary,” he smiles. Craig looks around him at the four or five squirrels that are watching Luke pointedly. There are scraps of peanut shells around his feet.

“Someone must have been feeding them,” Craig says.

Luke gets his letter two weeks later.  
I GOT IN!!!!!!!!, he texts Craig immediately. 

******************************

“This is a really involved theory, Gilmore,” Luke tells him as they lay facing each other on the bed.

“Well, there’s a lot of things you have to get in place. I haven’t even got to the complicated ones yet.”

“Tell me some complicated ones,” Luke says, tracing Craig’s chin with his little finger.

Craig is a little wary of jinxing everything so early in the relationship, and is not sure how much complication Luke could cope with. Happily, Luke clarifies this himself.

“Are there any moving in together cords?” Luke wonders idly, hoping.

“Oh yeah. LOTS of those.”

The come-with-live-me-and-be-my-love wiring code

Even organised poofs find moving house difficult.

It is early June, nearly seven months after they found each other. Luke has been accepted into Edinburgh to undertake a Bachelor of Sc (Social Work), Craig has accepted a job at the Edinburgh Met to commence the supervisory role of the second Community Relations report, this time with more staff and slightly more pay.

Before he can commence his degree, Luke has to complete a six week bridging course in Sociology, which he is able to undertake at the University in Brighton.

“Perfect,” Gina tells him when he hands his resignation over to her. 

“Goodbye,” Sergeant Smith says without a scrap of emotion.

“Yer moving in with Gaymore?” PC Best asks. “On purpose?”

Luke has resigned from the police force for a second time and, with Craig’s help, is packing up his flat – his cds, books, nice plates and cushions.

Craig is looking at the violent little fish, wondering how it will cope with long distance travel.

“He’ll be fine in a big plastic bag,” Luke says. “With water,” he adds.

But there is a much more pressing issue than Tom Yum’s welfare.

The couple chatters aimlessly as Luke packs his clothes, Craig folding them into boxes, when Luke sees a small pile on the bottom of the wardrobe floor. He hasn’t looked at it for months, and he literally blanches when he spots it again.

“What?” Craig asks when he sees Luke go cold. “What?”

They sit on the floor together and go through the cache of gifts that Alex gave to Luke during the course of their relationship.

Craig says nothing. He is holding the platinum slave bracelet, looking at the diamonds in the padlock.

“I was going to sell it all,” Luke said. “I thought I could use the money to go to Uni, but then I couldn’t stand the thought of living off anything he gave me.” He’s quiet for a minute, watching Craig go through the gifts.

Craig is silent too, fingering the leather of the Gucci jacket, holding the heavy valuable watch in his hands. He is having dull unformed thoughts about wanting to give Luke the same kinds of gifts, and at the same time realising how worthless these gifts are, hidden in the wardrobe where they can’t cause any pain.

“Sell the lot,” Craig says finally. Luke is about to protest but Craig interrupts. “If he’d smashed your car or something like that, you’d be entitled to compensation. What he did you was horrible. You deserve to be compensated. Sell the lot and think of the money as compensation.”

The compensation money makes a marked difference to their quality of life in the last two months in Brighton.

 

The who’s-space-is-it wiring code

Craig has shared living environments with lots of men.

Luke has lived with his mother, with a pack of frantic medics and coordinators in tents in depressed despotic countries in Africa, and, for a while, with Kerry.

Both men have lived alone for the best part of the last two years.

Craig watches Luke carefully for the first few days after he moves in, wondering how long it will take him to settle in, wondering if they will actually get on, wondering if it will work. He tries to think of things that he might do if Luke gets homesick, or feels hemmed in.

The first thing Luke does when he gets to Brighton is rinse Tom Yum’s little tank and sets him up on one of the shelves of Craig’s bookcases.

Ooh, Peg wonders, is that for me?

Then he buys himself a bike. He knows that since his access to a free gym is now gone, he needs to find other ways to keep fit. When he comes home, sweaty and energised, he stacks his cds unobtrusively alongside Craig’s. 

 

Then he plugs in his excellent coffee maker on the corner of the bench in Craig’s kitchen.

***********************************

He puts his towels in with Craig’s.

Then he makes himself some toast and Marmite.

Everyday he cycles in to Brighton, around the college and back again. He doesn’t start for another week but he likes to get his bearings.

He pads around the flat in bare feet, chatting to Craig when he’s around.

“Is Welsh rarebit actually Welsh?” he asks.

“I really don’t know,” Craig tells him honestly.

“You’d think that everybody in the UK would know how to make grilled cheese on toast. I mean, you’d hardly think the Welsh thought of it first.” And then he pads around a bit more. He sits on the window seat and looks out to the sea. Occasionally he checks through Craig’s books, which impress him enormously.

Craig forgets to worry about him and starts finding himself distracted by the increasing density of Luke’s thighs and the fascinating hardness of his arse.

Every night he stretches out beside Craig, besotted, content, satisfied. He invariably wakes up trapped under Craig.

“Am I squashing you?” Craig asks him sleepy on the fourth morning.

“Nope.” Luke could wriggle free if he actually wanted to.

After he’s been there for five days, Luke is washing dishes when he catches Craig looking at him again. He tilts his head slightly, and smiles oddly at him.

“You really can’t keep your eyes off me, can you?”

He laughs, and walks over to him, turning him around, ostensibly to hold him but in reality to grope his thighs.

“You should get a bike helmet,” he says, partially because he’s worried Luke will come a-cropper and split his lovely head open, and partially to temporarily disguise how badly he is lusting after his thighs.

Luke does get a bike helmet, mostly to shut Craig up, and he also gets himself a part-time job in a vintage clothing store in the centre of town. Craig is amazed at his practicality. “I’ve always had a job,” Luke tells him, off handed in an organised poof kind of way – and Lilly is thrilled.

 

****************************  
“I love that shop!! They all know me!! You can get me a discount!! You can help me choose dresses! You can be my stylist!” 

“You might want to start by talking to her about those pink earmuffs,” Craig suggests when Luke tells him this.

Peg is also interested to see how Luke will fit into her home. She finds him clean, friendly and fairly easily to manipulate.

“What are you doing?” Craig asks one morning when he sees Luke throwing out an empty catfood tin.

“I just gave Peg her breakfast. Why?”

“I gave her breakfast an hour ago.”

“Well, that’s not she told me,” Luke says with a straight face. He walks over to the backdoor where Peg is knocking back a second helping of Tuna Flakes with Prawns. “Did you lie to me?” he asks her.

She looks up briefly. Sucker, she smiles, and goes back to her food.

When he’s not admiring Luke’s rear view, Craig observes silently as to whether Luke is coping with his bridging course. Luke reads his course notes carefully, struggles through the four set texts, and writes his first essay.

“Told you you’re not thick,” Craig tells him, pleased and privately relieved when Luke gets a pass on the essay.

Luke is still not convinced. Still, he settles in with Craig very quickly and very happily. There are many things he likes about his new life. After Craig himself, he likes (in no specific order) Craig’s washing machine, the window seat, sharing cooking and eating with Craig, hearing the sound of the ocean all the time and, after it occurs to him, swimming in the ocean.

Luke creates himself a routine around his course, his job, Craig’s job and the beach. In July, when Craig has to work every weekend, he comes home in the vivid summer evenings to find Luke salty and sparkling with new freckles.

“I didn’t know you liked to swim,” Craig says, tasting the salt on his warm skin.

“Food and sex,” Luke answers, as he stretches his back so Craig can taste more. When Craig stops and looks at him, Luke explains. “They’re two of your favourite things. It sort of combines the two, doesn’t it, when I taste salty.”

“You forgot work,” Craig says, readjusting his attention on accessing Luke’s thighs to see if they’re savoury too.

“Wear your uniform home tomorrow night,” Luke advises. 

********************************

“So do you like this theory better than the marmalade one?” Craig is lying over the top of Luke; they are both lying with their heads at the foot of the bed.

“It’s a good theory,” Luke says, lightly rolling one of Craig’s earlobes between his index finger and thumb. “But there’s no bad bits yet. What kind of wiring will we have when you start to drive me crazy? “

Craig doesn’t miss a beat. “There are several cords that will enable me to put up with you when you go into Ashton Drama Queen mode,” he sniggers.

The I-know-what-buttons-to-push-to-drive-you-mad wiring code

They spend a lot of time in the kitchen. They both like to cook and they both like to wash up and restore order.

It is in the kitchen that they first learn ways to drive each other barmy.

“Look, it’s simple,” Craig says as they are drying the dishes. “The forks go in this section, the knives in this section, and the spoons go here,” he says while Luke puts the clean cutlery away, intentionally misplacing them.

Craig bristles as he leans around Luke to restore order in the cutlery drawer. As soon as he has, Luke puts a dried spoon in with the forks.

Craig puts the displaced spoon back in the correct section with its brothers and sisters. Luke then carefully dries a knife, puts it in amongst the spoons and waits.

“I know you’re doing this to annoy me,” Craig hisses in Luke’s ear as he relocates the knife.

“It’s very satisfying,” Luke whispers back.

A few nights later, while they are seeing whether they can recreate the Seabay’s shredded potato dish, Luke whinges about being the youngest person in his bridging classes.

“They’re all twenty years older than me,” he complains of his fellow students. “I’m always the youngest, everywhere I go. Just once I’d like to be the oldest.”

“Would you, bub?” Craig says gently, pouring sesame oil into a small bowl.

“What did you call me?” Luke demands, a little heated.

Craig shakes his head pleasantly. “Nothing.”

Later that night, their bellies full of a fairly successful shredded potato dish, they lie spooned together in bed, listening to the rain outside. Craig is stroking Luke’s chest, and comes across a couple of stray wiry hairs on Luke’s sternum. He gently pulls one, just enough for Luke to know what he’s found.

“Don’t even bloody say it, Gilmore,” Luke warns him, although Craig has already starting to chuckle.

Luke grabs his hand and tries to pull out of the embrace, which amuses Craig all the more. He has no trouble keeping Luke in place.

“You went away a boy, and came back to me a man!” Craig barely manages to tell him as he laughs.

“You’re not funny,” Luke says, cranky, trying to wriggle away.

“Oh, you sound so grown up when you’re angry,” Craig tells him.

******************************

“I can’t believe you’ve thought all this out,” Luke tells Craig, who is stretched out across the bed on his belly.

“I can’t believe you would think I would entertain the idea of a relationship without a strategy in place,” he smiles over his shoulder at Luke, who is lying flat on top of him.

“Is there an inevitable cord?”

Craig thinks for a minute.

“Everything’s inevitable,” he decides.

The it’s-sad-but-it-was-bound-to-happen-eventually cord

There was only one minor blip on the happy sun-soaked radar of their brief time together in Brighton.

Craig arrived home early on his last day at work at Central, assuming (rightly, now) that Luke was still swimming. Amelia has organised a rather lovely farewell party in Craig’s honour for that evening, Pete has bought forth a huge swag of fish and Luke has made it very clear that he wants to be part of the celebrations.

“No leeks,” was the last instruction Craig gave to Ambo before he left the station.

“But Amelia said..,"

“She lied. No leeks.”

Craig is peering in his fridge, looking for a beer. Peg snakes around his feet, reminding him that she’s ready for dinner too.

“What do you want, Fishbreath?” he asks her as he uncaps a Corona. “I’ll feed you in a minute.”

He is about to drink his beer in peace on the window ledge, but notices something amiss when he walks past Tom Yum’s tank.

“Oh shit,” he says when he sees Tom Yum’s small mortal remains floating on the surface of the water. Craig, who has attended more crime scenes involving corpses than he can remember, doesn’t know what to do.

Luke comes in just a few minutes later, surprised to see Craig leaning over Tom Yum’s tank without the mirror.

“What? What’s up?”

Craig looks at him apprehensively and uses the beer to motion him over.

Luke looks in silence at the ex-fish.

“Is he dead?” he asks. Craig holds himself still for a bit, then, when he attempts to answer, laughs harder than Luke has ever seen.

“It’s not funny!” Luke says, laughing himself, amazed and delighted at Craig’s reverie. “I thought he might have been unconscious,” and this makes Craig laugh harder, so hard that he makes no sound. Little millet seed tears stream down his face.

It takes Luke a long time to settle Craig down. “I’m sorry,” Craig says, wiping his face. “I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“It’s alright. Everybody handles grief differently,” Luke says gravely, and this sets Craig off again.

“I’ll buy you another fish when we get to Edinburgh,” Craig says by way of apology for his disrespect.

“Oh, it won’t be the same,” wails Luke, who can mince with the best of them when he chooses.

“What should we do with him?” Craig asks after he has finished laughing again.

Luke shrugs. “Flush him down the loo?” And when Craig gives him "The Look", he says, “Well, I’m not buying him a plot in the cemetery.”

In the end, Luke wraps Tom Yum in a small piece of newspaper and drops him of the pier on the way to Amelia’s place.

“It’s what he would have wanted,” Luke tells Craig sadly as they walk back up to the town.

*****************************

“Then there’s the couples’ cords,” Craig says, scratching Luke’s back.

“Bit lower,” he says, as Craig chases a small itch for him. “Why would you need – little bit to the right – a couples cord? We’re already a couple. Up a bit.”

“Yeah, but you start to put cords in place when people treat you as one. There?”

Luke sighs as the magic hand eases the itch. “Like what?”

“Like when they give you presents. Actually, that’s a big one, when you start getting presents as a couple. Enough?” He sweeps his hand lightly down Luke’s back.

“No,” Luke whimpers, bunging it on. “It’s itchy on the other side now.”

 

The our-first-present-as-a-couple wiring code

Polly gave Luke a very interesting gift when he left Sun Hill.

“It’s fer both of ya,” she said happily, her elfin face filled with sincerity. “I fink you’ll find it roolly helpfel.” And she kissed Luke on the cheek.

Craig and Luke examined the gift one morning as they cuddled up in bed.

“It’s a strange thing to give someone,” Craig said, still curious.

“I think it’s great, it’s very true.”

“You just say that because it says nice things about you,” Craig says.

“It says nice things about you, look!” And Luke unfolds the beautiful hand drawn astrological chart that includes details about them both as a couple. “See? It says here you’re loyal and sensual and hardworking. And look, look at this bit, it shows how your moon shadows my moon.”

Craig looks at the small cluster of symbols and sees nothing tangible.

“Is that a good thing?” he asks, cradling Luke against his chest as he peers over his shoulder.

“It is. It means you protect me, look out for me. And look, see how your moon and my sun match? How they’re both in Cancer? That’s a good thing too.” Luke is very impressed with the chart.

“What about your moon and my sun? Do they match?”

“Taurus and Scorpio. They’re opposites,” says Luke wickedly, leaning up to Craig’s ear. “Incredible sex.”

“That’s a good thing,” Craig agrees.

“And here, look, you’ll like this, it says we should buy property together.”

And they both sit and stare and stare at the chart, Bull and Crab, working out how they might get to buy property.

****************************

A couple of month later Rebus and Michael are settling down for the night.

They are hosting Craig and Luke, who have stopped by on their way to Edinburgh. The four men have spent the night over another one of Michael’s wonderful meals, discussing the theory of organised poofs.

They decide, as they finish Michael’s startling summer pudding, that they are all organised poofs, and, furthermore, that the vast majority of modern day poofs are in fact organised.

“Well,” Rebus decrees as Michael curls around him in bed, “Grommit seems very pleased with himself.”

“He should. He’s very lucky. I think Luke’s lovely.”

“Well, he is a nice lad. So’s Grommit.” Their skins are warming against one another slowly when Rebus remembers something and starts to chuckle.

“Remember when the real Grommit on the telly got a sheep? A little sheep with big bright eyes, and they knitted him a jumper?”

Michael laughs with him. “Shaun Sheep! He was a little lamb that Grommit saved from the abattoir!” 

Down the hall. Craig’s lamb is lying curled up on top of him in the comfy bed, his head on Craig’s stomach. Craig is reading Double Indemnity.

Luke loves listening to the dark liquid places inside Craig, and has just discovered that if he presses his tummy gently he can make the gurgling sounds more frequent and insistent.

Craig lifts his book and peers at Luke, concentrating closely, head pressed up Craig’s digestive system, as if he is tuned in to the underworld.

“What are you doing to me?”

Luke continues to tune in. “It’s like listening to sea monsters fighting,” he says, enchanted.

Craig puts his book down and pulls Luke up towards him, away from his intestines.

“Leave my stomach alone,” he says softly, smiling.

“It’s mine too,” Luke replies. Luke believes he now has complete ownership of Craig inside and out.

“Nice house?”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees. “Very nice. Could do without Artie though.” Artie found Luke a very easy target, having sunk his buckteeth in to Luke’s juicy ankle not five minutes after he arrived.

“I did warn you.”

“Do you think we’ll get one?” Luke asks after a minute, and adds a pertinent point just in time. “I mean a house, not a rabbit.”

“Hope so,” Craig said briefly. He’s been doing sums in private for weeks, wondering what kind of house they could afford to buy on a Sergeant’s wage, a meagre student income and small savings. “But not for a while.” 

When they’re leaving the next morning, Rebus takes Craig aside and speaks to him in the kitchen. Rebus is trying to press upon Craig a rather generous gift.

“Well, look, it’s hard for young people when they’re starting out,” he’s telling Craig.

Craig is silent, a little overcome at Rebus’s generosity.

“Well, Michael and I have saved a lot of money. Michael inherited a lot when his father died. You know how it is. No kids. We thought we might go travelling, but we couldn’t be bothered. We actually prefer it here. And Michael hates not being able to do the laundry every day. So all that money in the bank, waiting to be split up when we die. Such a waste.”

Craig is still silent. He doesn’t like to think of anyone dying.

“Well, if you want to buy a place in Scotland instead of renting, we’ll give you twenty thousand pounds. You probably would have got when I died anyway. Along with your useless bloody cousins and your terrifying sister.”

“I can’t take it,” Craig says.

“Well, that’s nonsense. You can. Think about it. Talk to…,” Rebus very nearly says Shaun here “talk to Luke. See what he thinks. The offer’s open indefinitely.”

Craig looks down at the slate floor and sees the mean spirited Artie nearby, assessing his chances.

“Well, think about it,” Rebus says. “I’d rather see the money being used by a pair of organised poofs than lying idle in the bank.”

Luke and Craig have one more stop to make before they drive on to Edinburgh. They discuss Rebus’s offer in the car. It has its good points and its bad points, and the one great point – that neither of them will acknowledge yet – is the commitment that buying a house together illustrates.

“It’s a lot of money to take from anyone,” Luke says.

“I know. But it would make a huge difference if we found a place we want to buy.”

Luke remembers something. “Did you ask him about the tablecloth?”

Craig grimaces. “Sorry. I forgot.”

So now we’ll never know.

“Here, that house over there,” Luke tells him, as they drive just outside of Nottingham. “Pity you’re not wearing your uniform.” 

Craig looks at him a little worried.

“Oh! Aren’t you huge!” Luke’s grandmother tells Craig, as if he might not have realised it yet.

“Hello,” he says shyly.

“And you’re a fairy too?” she confirms with Craig as she sets a mug of coffee in front of him. She has made more fruitcake, and it is very good. Moist.

Craig nods with his mouth full. “Definitely,” he tells her. “Gay’s probably a better word,” he adds politely.

“I suppose it is,” she agrees. “There’s not much fairy-like about you! And you’re a policeman?”

“Yes.” Craig is unsure what else he can tell her.

“And you’re Welsh?”

Craig nods.

“A gay Welsh policeman!” she smiles.

“That’s pretty much it,” Craig smiles. “This is great fruitcake,” he says, desperate to divert her.

“Now, you’re not a policeman anymore, are you?” she starts on Luke.

“No, I’,”

“But you’re still gay,” she says, frowning a little.

He nods at her. “Craig’s my partner,” he tells her.

“Partner? That’s a good word for it. I hear that all the time now. What happened to husband or boyfriend?”

“How’s Beris?” Luke tries.

“Oh, she’s worse. Nurse Sally and her girlfriend – sorry, PARTner - are going to have a baby.” She looks at Luke with glittering eyes.

“No chance,” Luke tells her before she can go any further.

“Well, it’s harder for men,” she says, resigned.

“We’ve got a cat,” Craig says hopefully.

“Well, a cat is a responsibility,” she says in the way that mothers and grandmothers have of justifying things. She looks at Luke with a sly granny smile, and turns to Craig. “Luke was a lovely baby,” she says sweetly.

Oh Christ, Luke thinks, the photos.

Craig smiles sweetly back. He rather likes Luke’s grandmother.

“Was he?” he asks, playing along. He looks at Luke with delighted eyes before he asks, “Have you got any photos?”

“I can’t believe you did that,” Luke half-snarls as they drive off a couple of hours later.

“What?” Craig is looking for the turn off to the motorway. “You wouldn’t be curious to see what I was like as a baby?”

Luke is about to get crabby and argue, but Craig has a point.

“You would have been one of those serious babies,” Luke says after a while. “Do your parents have lots of pictures?”

“Well, Jenny and I were the first. There’s always lots of pictures of the first. So remember not to ask out about the photos in front of Graham. He still gets cranky about it.

“Were you a nice baby?”

“No,” Craig says, smiling. “All babies are nice, aren’t they?”

Luke goes quiet for a minute. “You like babies?”

Craig nods. “In theory, yes.” He can feel Luke’s thoughts, and changes the subject for him. “I asked Gina that once, if she liked kids, after Debbie Whatsherface had her baby.”

“What she say?” Luke is curious to find out if Gina has a motherly streak.

“She said ‘Yeah, but I couldn’t eat a whole one.’”

“She didn’t mean that,” Luke says quickly.

“No, I don’t think so. Gina’s pretty tough but I doubt she eats children.”

“So where are you going to put it?” Luke says, looking over to the photo his grandmother gave Craig. It shows a rather enchanting one-year-old holding up two fat starfish hands and smiling at his father, who was holding the camera.

“On my desk at work,” Craig grins. “I’m going to tell everyone you’re my son.”

“You’re as sick as Gina,” Luke says.

*********************************

“What about Peg?” Luke asks when Peg hops up on the bed to see if they’re doing anything interesting, and, if not, if either of them are able to offer a suitable sleeping surface. “Does she have a cord?”

Craig hasn’t actually considered where pets fit into his Electrical Appliance Theory.

“We’d have to ask her,” he says.

“Craig,” Luke says, seemingly serious for a moment, “ I really love you but there is no way I’m going to start checking with your cat about our relationship.”

Peg looks over at Luke benignly. That’s what you think, she thinks smugly.

Peg’s love-me-love-my-pet wiring code

Peg settles between the pair of them, touches Luke briefly with her paw, and then rolls over to look at Craig.

Who’s he? Clean, isn’t he? He smells like you. Do you want me to wash him? Has he got thumbs? No use to either of us if he can’t open cat food. Are you going to keep him? Is he like the other one you had who didn’t like me? You can’t keep him if he’s not nice to me. And I don’t want to waste time bringing him pegs if he’s not going to appreciate them. Where did you get him? The rest of his litter’s not coming here, are they? He hasn’t a got a dog, has he? If he’s got a dog you can’t have him. I curse all dogs. Are you sure he’s got thumbs? He can’t open catfood if he hasn’t got thumbs.

Peg rolls over as Luke strokes her coat and looks at him.

Well, you’re doing all right so far. You smell okay, but you need a bath. You smell like him. He’s mine. It’s taken me a long time to train him, and I’m happy to put the same time and effort into you as long as you’re nice to him. Show me your hands.

Peg pushes her face under Luke’s hand, giving him the impression she wants her ears scratched.

Excellent thumbs, nice big hands. You’d have no trouble with catfood. You don’t smell like dogs either.

She tips her face around to Craig, chin exposed, purring a little.

Okay, he can stay.

 

  
Peg’s I-mightn’t-have-thumbs-but-I-see-things-you-can’t wiring code

Peggy goes to Edinburgh by way of an interesting pet courier service which makes a lot of money relocating pets when their owners move.

“Two hundred and twenty quid?” Craig roars when Luke tells him the quote.

“Well, they have to feed her and they board her, too, until we’ve got a place,” he says. He’s holding Peg while he talks to Craig in the kitchen.

Craig is about to complain about this further, but is stopped short by the sight of Peg and Luke both looking at him in the same way.

“Have you planned this together?” Craig asks, suspicious.

Peg finds the new house in Edinburgh as creepy as her owners do. She sees the things they can only hear, and far more quickly too.

Oh dear, she thinks when Luke takes her out of her deluxe travelling box, can you see all those people? Oh, look at that, there’s a hairy man in a kilt. He’s walking up and down the hall. And can you see all those people in the kitchen? They’re looking at your cups. They’re noisy, aren’t they? Oh look, there’s one outside, trying to get in the window. What are you doing to my paws?

“What are you doing to her paws?” Craig asks.

“I’m putting butter on them,” Luke says, as if he is doing something perfectly rational. “It’s how you get cats used to their new house. They lick the butter off their paws, and by the time they’ve finished, they have the scent of where they live, and they don’t get lost.”

“It’s cold in here…are you cold?” Craig asks.

“A bit. There you go,” he tells Peg, “get licking.”

Peg looks at her greasy paws, and takes a tentative taste. Butter!

“I’m going for a ride,” Luke tells Craig the next morning as he straps his helmet to his head.

“Well, don’t get lost,” Craig says. He looks across at the butter on the table and smiles to himself.

“Dream on,” Luke tells him as he kisses him goodbye.

*****************************

Back in Brighton, Luke is sitting up against the pillows, and Craig is lying up against him, his chin on Luke’s breastbone.

“What about for fights? Bad fights? Do we have cords in place for that?” Luke asks, a little worried. He is stroking wisps of Craig’s fringe, trying, as so many have tried before him, to make them lie flat.

“Do you think we’ll have bad fights?” Craig wonders, looking up at Luke’s hand at his hairline.

“Well, you’re pretty moody.”

Craig lifts his eyebrows slightly and slips his hands into Luke’s, holding them under his chin. “I think, my darling Ashton, that you’ve proved to be the more unpredictable person in this relationship.”

“Yeah, but I’m good at expressing it. You harbour stuff for years. What kind of cords do we have for fights?

 

The really-serious-fights wiring code.

The hardest part of the relationship, Luke and Craig always agree, were the first months they were in Edinburgh. Nothing was what they expected,

Craig and Luke have been in Edinburgh for three months. They have been a couple for a year. They’re having difficulty settling into everything - it’s colder than they expected, their house is creepy, they have a mortgage, Luke is seriously worried that he won’t come close to being able to cope with his course work, Craig can’t begin to plan how he will set the interview project in place here. They’re both discombobulated.

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke snaps at Craig on a Wednesday morning, “water on the bathroom floor. Get over it.”

“You get over it,” Craig snaps back, irritated at Luke’s attitude. “I’m sick of mopping after you every time I want to have a shower.”

“Yeah well I’m sick of listening to you whinge about a bit of water in a bloody bathroom, for Christ’s’ sake.”

“Well I’ll stop whingeing if you clean the bloody thing up when you’ve finished! I’m not your bloody mother!”

Luke draws first blood. “My bloody mother would have organised this a lot better than you have.” Voice raised, eyes mean.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Craig counters.

“Well, my bloody mother wouldn’t have wasted our fucking money on this dump for a start!” It cuts deep because it’s one of Craig’s biggest worries – they’ve committed their money to a house they hate, a house they’ll never be able to sell and a house they’re tied to financially for twenty two years.

“Well, no one’s breaking your arm to stay,” he bites back, angry and hurt. “You don’t like it here, fuck off.”

And this cuts too. Luke still hasn’t gained complete confidence with Craig, and still expects Craig to tire of him, or simply decide he doesn’t like him anymore.

“Suits me,” Luke says, seething, grabbing his bag and storming out of the house. He leaves his coffee only half finished on the sink, and hasn’t touched his breakfast.

They brood about it all day, fizzing with fury all through the morning, relenting a little over their lunch breaks, half hoping that one will call the other in the afternoon, both too stubborn to make the first move, both terrified that the other meant what they said.

Luke stays in the library until 6.30 that night, determined not to be the first one home. When he finally gets back at quarter past seven, he’s a little worried to find the house still in darkness, Craig not home, the heating not on.

Craig sits at his desk, ploughing his way through pages of reports, still trying to find an entry point into the mammoth task he has ahead of him. He finds it easy to block out his misery, and only decides to leave because his eyes hurt.

He doesn’t go home. Instead, he stops at a greasy hole in the wall and orders a steak sandwich and pot of tea, neither of which he enjoys much.

Then he goes and parks near the Castle and broods. He worries more about the house, he worries about Luke finding someone younger and more interesting, he worries about the financial commitment they’ve made, and how he’d handle it himself – or if in fact he could – if Luke decided to go. He worries that they’ve embarked on something much too big much too soon, and that maybe they should have waited a bit longer before setting up house.

Craig wishes he could go home, but dreads finding it empty, and then having to deal with worrying about where Luke is. He remembers briefly how badly they missed each other for their first six months in Brighton and London.

Luke remembers this too as the evening drags on and he misses Craig more and more. He has no intention of calling him but he wishes he were around anyway. For a few brief ugly seconds Luke wonders if Craig has been hurt or worse, but the thought is too awful to sustain. Then he wonders if Craig has gone to the pub with some people from work. He’s so attractive, he has no idea, Luke worries. He could find someone better in a second.

Luke goes to bed after picking at some toast and Marmite. He curls up, trying to get warm in the large empty bed, and after a few uncomfortable minutes swaps his pillow with Craig’s. It’s a little better. The creaky haunted house comes to life when the lights go out, and Luke lies there alone, miserable and scared.

He is only slightly cheered when Peg, seeking respite from the ghosts, comes to sleep on the warm bed.

Craig comes home at 11, cold and sad after sulking in his car for three hours, assuming that since the house is in darkness that Luke is out, meeting marvellous men and enjoying himself.

He undresses in the darkness, and is relieved to hear Luke shuffling in their bed.

They lie there for several minutes, back to back, seething and hurting, sorry and stubborn. 

Luke breaks first, not even bothering to think of something to say, instead just suddenly scrambling over the top of Craig and fixing himself hard in his arms. Craig jams Luke tight up against him, holds his head against him with his hand, and they say nothing until they’re both sure the other isn’t going anywhere.

*****************************

“Needless to say,” Craig says anyway, “the big fight wires come with the make-up sex wires.”

“Well, thank God for that,” Luke says happily, and decides his luck right now without the bother of a fight. He runs his hand down the ridged surface of Craig’s ribcage, watching his face to see if his eyelids get a little heavy.

Craig pulls his face over, and starts helping himself to coffee flavoured kisses.

“Then what?” Luke says in between tastes. “Wouldn’t that be all the wiring we need?”

“Oh no,” Craig says with a husky voice and heavy eyes, slipping his hand down to Luke’s groin. “We have the big problem wires.”

“I’ve got a big problem,” he barely manages to tell his lover when he feels the skilled hand move down his body.

“I can fix that,” Craig says willingly.

 

The we’ve-got-a-big-problem-here wiring code (Let the buyer beware)

Luke and Craig could not believe their luck in finding a quaint two and a half bedroom house in Prestonpans, on the coast, about eight miles out of the centre of Edinburgh. It was for sale, it was a very reasonable price, and it was close to town.

Initially they thought they’d rent a place and take their time finding a dream house. They had travelled all over Edinburgh, looking at dozens of unsuitable or unaffordable or patently ugly flats and houses for ten days.

Hate the carpet, Luke would say. The walls are damp, Craig would say, it’s filthy, they’d both say. Too expensive, too run down, too far, too noisy.

Luke noted, as they looked up Prestonpans in Batholomews Road Atlas of Great Britain (1956) that their new home was wedged in the middle of three Craig suburbs – Craiglaw, Craig Hall and Whitecraig.

“Well, it’s a Scottish name,” Craig told him, anticipating the next question. “No I don’t know why. Ask my father. He chose it.”

Luke is not about to question Craig’s father about anything. He finds him terrifying.

They bought their cottage two weeks after they arrived in Edinburgh. Jenny had suggested that she go in on the mortgage “I’ve got more money than the two of you put together,” she said, airily dismissing her generosity and that they could buy her out in a couple of years. Rebus and Craig struck a nice compromise on the money.

“Well, ten thousand then. And don’t bother trying to pay me back. I’ll be long dead,” Rebus told Craig, squeezing his shoulder.

So it had been uninhabited for a while, so the real estate agent was almost squealing with pleasure when they exchanged contracts. It was structurally sound, it had many of its original fittings, it had plenty of scope for renovation but it was still livable.

And, as they learnt after only two nights there, it was positively crawling with ghosts. Cups tipped themselves over, windows rattled in the still August nights, books popped off shelves, doors opened and shut for no apparent reason, and – worst of all – some heavy footed graceless spectre spent a lot the nights walking up and down the hall.

“What’s that?” Luke asked Craig, as they lay cuddled together on the second night in the house.

“I have no idea,” Craig said, just as unnerved, listening to someone walk down the hall. He got out of bed to check, only to find the cold hall completely empty. He looked right through the house. Nothing.

“There’s nothing there,” he told Luke when he slid back into bed next to him. And then the footsteps started again.

Peggy took to sleeping on their bed, and they were grateful for her company.

It’s January, and they have been a couple for one year and two months. Jenny is their first houseguest, and she stands at their bedroom door just after midnight, berating them both.

“You’ve got ghosts the way other people have mice!” she complains loudly at them as they both blink at the light she has just switched on. “And I don’t even believe in bloody ghosts!”

Craig sits up and tries to calm her down. Luke notes that Jenny is wearing Craig’s rugby jersey and a pair of his boxer shorts. He finds it very confusing.

“I’m not going back into that room,” she tells Craig adamantly. I’m staying in here with you and your boyfriend and your cat. What are you looking at me like that for?” she says to Luke.

“It just fucks with my mind to see my boyfriend’s sister wearing his clothes,” he says.

Craig finds this adorable, but Jenny regains his attention before he goes gooey.  
“Move over,” she says to her brother. Luke gets shoved over to the edge, and Craig finds himself jammed between the two of them. Peg, who is very fond of Jenny, curls up next to her under the covers.

Craig and Jenny squabble for a few minutes until Luke’s had enough.

“Shut up the pair of you!” he says, exasperated.

“She started it,” Craig said, smiling to himself, and that starts Jenny off again.

“This is a nightmare,” Luke says wearily.

“You’re telling me,” Jenny says. And then they all go quiet when they hear the footsteps out in the hall. Luke takes Craig’s hand and they squeeze fingers. Craig draws him a little closer.

“What do you think it is?” Craig whispers after a minute.

Jenny sits up on her elbows, and Peg squeaks a bit. “It’s a bloody ghost!” she says, annoyed. “Jesus, Craig, how long have you two been living like this?”

They’re both too embarrassed to tell her.

“You know you’re both pathetic, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Luke assures her. “You never stop reminding us.” This makes Craig laugh, and starts Jenny off again. 

Luke pulls his pillow over his head and leaves them to it.

The next day Jenny sets off early, and comes back mid morning armed with a confused priest.

“I’m only new at this,” he tells Craig and Luke, who sit stunned over the breakfast table.

“New at what?” Craig wonders.

“Exorcisms,” he explains.

“Aren’t exorcisms for the devil?” Luke asks politely. He’s rather in awe of the clergy.

“They work for ghosts too,” the priest says unconvincingly.

“We don’t have to hold hands, do we?” Craig checks.

“Nope,” the priest assures him. “No hand holding. All you have to do is keep quiet and don’t laugh.”

“Why we would laugh?” Jenny asks.

“Well, some of the prayers sound funny,” the priest explains. And he sets off throughout the house with his holy water and crucifix, reciting a series of prayers that makes them all wonder what might have been funny. They find the whole procedure serious and intense.

And when the priest has finished, the house is eerily quiet.

“Can we get a certificate or something?” Jenny asks the priest later when they serve him morning tea. “We’re worried about the resale value of the house,” she adds.

“I'll just announce it at Mass next week. I might even incorporate it in the sermon. It’ll get around very quick.” He looks at Craig, and then Luke, and decides to check something.

“Are you Catholic?”

“I’m not anything,” Luke tells him.

“Half Catholic, half Methodist,” Craig says.

“Well, half Catholics are still welcome at Mass,” the priest says encouragingly.

“Not gay ones,” Craig clarifies for him.

The priest considers this for a second. “True,” he says. “What about you?” he says to Luke.

“I’m not any religion. And I’m gay too. Sorry.”

“No matter,’ the priest says cheerily. “Tell me if you change your mind.”

That night, Jenny and Peg snore happily in the guestroom, while Craig and Luke ponder the peaceful house in their own bed.

“Clever priest,” Craig says after a while. He’s spooned around Luke, stroking the tiny little crop of hair on the centre of his chest. 

“Do you think he meant to call him if I change my mind about being gay or if I change my mind about being Catholic?” Luke asks. 

“I wondered that. Probably both.”

**************************

“Problem fixed,” Craig says to Luke, still in his lap, leaning against him with a heaving chest.

“Love the way you do that,” Luke smiles with his eyes still closed.

“Now you can look after my problem,” Craig tells him, guiding Luke’s hand to the source of his discomfort.

“Is there a wire for sex?” Luke wonders as he gently runs his fingers up Craig’s left thigh.

“Anyone who needs to be wired for sex doesn’t deserve to have a relationship,” Craig gasps as Luke takes him in hand.

The actually-there-are-cords-for-sex wiring code

Craig makes light of it, but he actually has to be patient and gentle with Luke for over a year before the sex cords are in place.

Luke adores him, but his responses are still erratic. Sometimes he literally seizes up when Craig attempts to give him oral sex, or even undress him. Craig learns very quickly that Luke is still very shaken up by the attack. It is confusing for Luke, twenty-six and very prone to sexual frustration, and difficult for Craig who wants to keep him satisfied, and who in any case finds it difficult to keep his hands off him.

“I’m sorry,” Luke says after another failure. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want you to apologise. I don’t care. I just want you to feel safe.” Craig assures him over and over, and continues to be patient and gentle with him night after night, week after week. He starts to feel guilty at the lengths Luke will go to please him, because he can rarely reciprocate.

It changes in a matter of minutes when they have been in Edinburgh for seven months. They have been a couple for a year and five months. Luke is struggling through his first year; Craig is just starting to make headway in his job.

They have a weekend off to spend together. While Luke is busy flooding the bathroom while he showers, Craig reads the paper over coffee. They have planned to walk into the city centre and back for the fun of it.

A small article on page five catches Craig’s eye:

ANTIQUE DEALER SENTENCED TO SIX YEARS FOR MALE RAPE

London businessman and fine arts dealer Alex Gallen yesterday pleaded guilty to three counts of actual body harm and two counts of aggravated sexual assault.

It is understood Mr Gallen, who previously had pleaded not guilty to one rape charge against an unnamed man, changed his plea when a second man alleged he was raped by Gallen in October 2002.

The article went on to give brief details of the attacks, and stressed several times that both men’s identity had been suppressed.

Hope he rots there, Craig thought.

“All yours,” Luke says when he comes out of the bathroom in just his boxers.

Craig looks at him with serious eyes, He doesn’t want to upset Luke but he thinks he should know. “You might want to read this,” he says, tapping the article with his finger as he leaves the table. “If it upsets you, come and tell me.” He leans over and kisses Luke’s temple. “I always love it when you visit me in the shower.”

Craig showers alone, and Luke is nowhere to be seen when Craig returns. He’s sitting on the edge of their bed, hands in his lap.

Craig kneels down before him. He puts his hand around Luke’s neck, and waits.

“I should have pressed charges,” he says miserably.

Craig shakes his head. “You know you couldn’t have. Anyway, it doesn’t make any difference now. He’s locked up. He’s gone.”

“I wanted a first time,” Luke tells him dully. Craig is overcome with pity for him. It’s such a simple sad thing to wish for.

“Oh, darling,” Craig says, trying to pull Luke closer. Luke sits fast where he is, but Craig can’t tell whether it is anger or misery that keeps him fixed.

Luke is quiet. He stares hard at Craig with potent eyes for a few seconds, then leans over and kisses him intensely. Craig senses something different in the kiss, it’s charged and raw, a little reminiscent of the kisses they shared on the stag night. Luke stands up, brings Craig up with him, locking his arms around him, kissing him harder and harder.

Needy, Craig thinks as he tries to hold him. Luke keeps kissing, pushing his body into Craig, leading his hands to his arse. He then pulls them both over onto the bed, grinding against Craig, who is trying to calm him down.

“What’s up, darling?” he murmurs, stroking his head, only to feel his hand taken away and fixed over the front of Luke’s boxers. Craig very gingerly starts to tug them loose and Luke rocks against him, making it very clear that Craig is doing what he wants.

“Okay, okay,” he soothes, mindful that Luke could start squirming away any second. Luke moves further up the bed, sits open and ready, flexing towards Craig, who bows his head slowly towards his dusky, slightly shower damp groin, and tenderly kisses his erection just under the ruddy crown. Luke cries out to him, flexes harder, and Craig, incredibly turned on by the ferocity of his response, starts to bite him softly, then a touch more firmly, then kisses him properly, gently sucking the seeping hot crown, rolling the tight tense balls under his lips, stroking the hot dark crevice with his tongue, all the while Luke spreads his thighs wider, groaning aggressively as Craig tastes him. Then he sits up suddenly, wet and sticky, his cock throbbing visibly. He straddles Craig a little clumsily, taking his hand and directing it right along his groin, clear through to the tight opening he wants him to touch.

Craig slowly strokes with sensitive experienced fingers, very lightly, barely touching the pursed surface, leaning over to the drawer for the lube. He shows Luke the tube, sees if this is what he wants. Luke nods emphatically, clamps his eyes shuts and waits for the fingers, waits to see what it feels like, gasps when Craig gently and firmly renders the cleft slippery. He draws Luke to him, kissing him gently as he carefully penetrates him with one greasy finger.

“Is that alright?” he asks, but the question’s pointless. Luke is pushing into the sensation, his face damp and hot, his breath irregular and frantic. He barely registers the second finger Craig slips in with the first, only aware of the tremors of pleasure that are pounding through him. Craig stretches his face up to kiss, but is distracted by Luke’s face, radiant with intense enjoyment.

When Craig tries to slip his other hand down to his own cock, Luke grasp the hand, holding it for balance as he relaxes his legs and settles down on his back, drawing his knees up, fixing his feet around Craig as he follows, leaning over, looking deep into his eyes, hungry, excited, dipping into Luke’s face with a wanting mouth.

For a moment, Craig is temporarily consumed as one of his most visited fantasies comes to life beneath him, writhing against him with hot skin. He clutches and pushes against Luke with uncontrollable longing, excited and panting, struggling to concentrate as his own desire swamps him, satisfying himself his only thought for a few seconds.

Craig recalls flashes of his own first time, an over-excited, curious gangly twenty year old in the throes of a massive crush. It feels a little similar now, fucking Luke, sharing their bodies in way that he has wanted to for years.

Luke shudders imperceptibly when he feels both his legs lifted, making him completely open and vulnerable to Craig now closing his eyes as he gently presses the tip of his penis up against the tight ring of muscles. It’s an odd sensation, slow, sensual, extravagant. Luke grimaces slightly, expecting it to hurt and is surprised that it doesn’t, that instead is a little uncomfortable at first and then wildly pleasurable, layers of foreign sensations that travel in haphazard shots all over his body.

Craig holds his weight above him, shuddering as he waits for the muscles to relax, taking hard sobbing breaths through his mouth, his eyes fixed on Luke. His turns his contorted face away sharply as he feels the hot clamping hold around the head of his cock and strains to hold himself still when all he wants to do is push and grind. He looks back when Luke stretches his hand out, fingertips just touching his jaw, shaking as he waits for Luke’s body to accommodate him, all the time adoring him with heavy eyes.

That’s when Luke realises that Alex got nothing. He didn’t come close to robbing him of what he hoped for with Craig. Scratched his dignity, gouged at his safety and sense of self, but what he saved for Craig stayed safe. Luke raises his hips and moans as he eases Craig in further.

He sees the movement flare over Craig’s face, then he bears down a second time and then a third, setting his own rhythm, controlling Craig’s pleasure, measuring his own, moving his pelvis back and forth in small thrusts until Craig moves slightly and nudges the small bulbous prostate gland. It transmits a sharp slap of pleasure through Luke who cries out, blinking at the shock of the delectable sensation, causing him to buck a little more, and the small gland to kiss Craig’s cock again.

Luke strokes himself, tugging hard as Craig gradually increases the depth of his strokes. Not at all what he expected, the tenderness and the searing intimacy as Craig, holding his weight on his arms, keeping himself in place, bends over to kiss him as they fuck slowly. I love you, they say, but then even that isn’t enough, and when their eyes lock it feels as if they’re seeing each other properly for the first time. Craig gropes to hold Luke’s hand, reminding him with his eyes that their bodies are not the focus but the conduit for what they feel and what they have. It is all so much more substantial than flesh and blood.

“You’re mine,” Craig tells him as he start to come, looking down straight into his eyes, jolting into Luke powerfully, shuddering as the fire rips through him. He feels as if his heart is gaping open, visible to the world. The waves of pleasure start to weaken just as Luke calls out, and Craig feels the heavy shots of cum over his belly as he rubs his lips loosely over Luke’s.

“Never loved anyone as much as I love you,” he barely manages to tell Luke, who understands now that in a way it’s a first time for Craig too. “I adore you,” Luke whispers against his mouth.

You’re mine, he tells Luke again after he slips free and bundles him up to him. Luke, mesmerised by how much closer they’ve just become, touches his face against Craig. “Yours,” he confirms, but it isn’t quite right, and Luke struggles with it for a moment.

Craig is kissing his mouth, generous wet kisses now, only to feel his face stilled momentarily by Luke’s hand. “Ours,” Luke says quietly with his eyes closed, effectively shutting out any past or future intruder that might seek to prise them apart. A powerful surge of love careers through them both and Craig presses Luke in against him, hiding his face deep in the soft warm neck. It’s everything, Craig thinks as their bodies still burn, it’s everything about us. “Ours,” confirms and they kiss slow and hot, unable to move apart as this new intimacy stitches up the seams of their relationship tighter and tighter.

The afterglow stays with them for nearly two weeks. During this time Craig becomes more possessive than usual, grabbing Luke to him more frequently, silently jealous of even strangers around him. Luke responds in kind, wanting to be possessed, wanting to feel encircled by Craig’s attention. “Mine,” he’ll say when he grabs him, “yours,” Luke will confirm, and “ours,” they both say. 

********************************

 

“Better?” Luke whispers as Craig settles down beneath him on the bed in Brighton.

“Much better,” he says contently.

“You know, we’re not going to live long enough to use all these wires,” Luke tells him, sliding of his lap and reaching for the tissues on the bedside table.

“Of course we will,” Craig says. “Because then,” he continues, watching as Luke carefully mops up, “we have to get the history cords in place.”

“What? Battle of Waterloo type history?”

“No, our histories. And the histories we share. And the histories we make.”

“I hope they’re better than the messes you make,” Luke smiles, wrinkling his nose at him.

The sands-through-the-hourglass wiring code

They’ve been a couple for nearly three years.

Craig is moving ahead in leaps and bounds in his job. The interview project is now garnering serious interest from academics and criminologists, and new sections of the project start springing up around the country. 

Luke is having serious doubts about continuing his course. He has repeated two subjects that he failed last semester, essays make him anxious, and he cannot see his way clear to ever getting through an exam without a sleepless night beforehand. However, he has a part time accredited job at the Prisoner Rehabilitation Centre, where he assists case workers who run files on recently released prisoners and he also does two nights a week as an enquiry officer at the Rape Crisis centre.

To cheer him up, Craig has bought him down to London for the weekend. They are staying at Jenny’s rather lovely flat in Islington, and are meeting up with friends for dinner.

But in the clear cold Sunday morning, they are making their way to the Brick Lane Markets to visit an old favourite. They find her, gesticulating wildly, flanked by surly would-be fashionistas and a couple of optimistic young men, selling her popular wares down near Cheshire Street.

“Hello Spook!!! Hello Sarge!!! I’m so busy!!! Everybody loves Welsh tweed!! I’ve started a revival!! It’s so good to see you!! Why didn’t you bring Peg!! When’s dinner!! I’ve made a dinner dress!!” For these days, Lilly is more inclined to celebrate important occasions with a new frock than a jar of biscuits.

She has kept in touch faithfully with (as she calls them) her “first poofs” since they left Brighton. Her friendship with Craig confuses him as much as it did when she first bounced up to his doorstep with biscuits all those years ago, but she and Luke are thick as thieves. They gang up on Craig in a nice way (and in a way he secretly enjoys) whenever they meet up.

She is in her second year at St Martins.

“Lillian,” Luke says lovingly as she throws her arms around him.

“Kiss me and I’ll scream,” Craig says to her, but she stands on the toes of her satin tartan ballet pumps and kisses his cheek anyway.

They talk briefly, but she has customers milling around, holding her beautifully cut garish tweed garments up against their bodies and inquiring about prices.

“We’ll see you at Preem at eight tonight,” Luke tell her as they move on.

Luke is idly fingering a pile of hand knitted scarves in plain dark colours when a man approaches Craig and clasps his arm.

“Craig!” the stranger says delightedly. It is Patrick, Craig’s lover before Sean. Patrick is guarded by his partner Gareth, who recognises Luke, whose belly freezes over a little when he recognises the couple with whom he spent an enchanted evening the night Gina told him about the Area Press Manager.

After Patrick and Craig have exchanged a little gossip (Craig was fascinated to learn that Sean had abandoned his lifelong commitment after only a few months and ran off with a Taoist monk) Luke and Craig make their way down to Shoreditch to have a pub lunch.

Luke is curiously silent, a guilty look on his sweet face. Craig lets him stew for a few seconds, decides how he can make the most of it and then goes in gently.

“How, pray, do you know both Gareth and Patrick?”

Luke considers lying outright but he has known from the first time he met Craig that it won’t work.

“Spent a night with them once,” he mumbles.

“Did you?” he says pleasantly. “At the theatre, perhaps? A gallery opening? Patrick always loved the theatre.”

“Something like that,” Luke mumbles, a little lower this time.

“You blew them both, didn’t you, you little tart?”

Luke bursts out laughing. One of the distinct advantages of conducting yourself with decorum, as Craig generally does, is that occasional ribald outbursts are exceptionally effective.

“It’s your fault,” Luke says, a little more loudly. He explains the circumstances, and his subsequent unhappiness. Craig agrees that Luke’s solution was a good one.

“Nothing like a threesome to take your mind off things,” he confirms. "Did Patrick do the armpit thing on you?”

“Yeah!” Luke says, surprised.

“I taught him that,” Craig tells him proudly.

“Well, he wasn’t paying much attention,” Luke answers, slipping his hand into Craig’s pocket. “You do it much better.”

“Patrick was a slow learner,” Craig says dryly.

Dinner is very pleasant. Preems in Brick Lane is a marvellous restaurant, and there is much smacking of lips when the Mossala Dosa hits the table.

Everyone has a course of action for Luke and his unsatisfactory academic pursuits.

“You’ve come this far,” Gina says. “Why not stick it out?”

“It’s only a couple of fails!! I fail stuff all the time!! And I go mental in the exam room!! I drink all the water!! Three people passed out from dehydration when I sat the Modern Fashion Theory paper!! And I still failed!!” Lilly assures him.

“Isn’t there a student counsellor you can see? Surely they can help you,” Tony suggests.

“It’s not that easy, Tone,” Polly says. She is, at last, wearing a very impressive diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand. It throws tiny rainbows around the table. “You have to decide what you really want.”

“It’s not the be-all and end-all if you decide you want to drop out,” Gary the counsellor says. (He is actually there as one of Craig’s friends, having met him at a CRIP meeting when he acted as a consultant for the Leeds section of the project a few months ago. It took them a few hours over a drink or four that night to trace their common history back to a specific point. They get on exceptionally well.)

Everyone is waiting for Jenny to throw her penny’s worth into the ring. Luke is dreading it. She mops up the golden juices from her plate with pieces of naan, oblivious to the fact that the table is waiting for her.

“Gilmore,” Luke says after a minute, and she looks up at him, a little surprised, and shrugs her shoulders at him.

“It’s crap, isn’t it?” she says after a minute. And when every still looks at her, she explains. “It’s only a bloody university course. So what if you can’t do it. ”

“Well,” Luke says, a little hurt, “that’s great coming from someone who breezed through bloody Queens College with a first and got a masters from Wharton.”

“Luke,” she says seriously, finishing off her bread, “I couldn’t do what you do if someone trained me for ten years and paid me five thousand quid a week. There’s no way I could sit down and talk sense to an eighteen year old prisoner who’s sharing a cell with someone who rapes him every night. There is no way you would catch me going into the prison yard every morning – unpaid – to warn the newcomers about sharing needles so they don’t get hepatitis C. There is no way you’d get me sitting on a phone for four hours at a stretch offering advice to rape victims.”

“No one taught you to do it, and no one could make you brave enough or compassionate enough to do it. You could do it even if you never went near a University.”

She stops, and reaches over for more dahl. Everyone is rapt. “You do it everyday, and you didn’t ‘breeze through bloody Queens’ and you don’t have an MBA. The things you have to do get through Queens and Wharton aren’t your skills. And what you can do aren’t my skills. I’ll never be as brave as you. But sure as Christ your skills are every bit as important and every bit as relevant as mine. What difference does it make if you drop out of some course?” She looks at him with her dark eyes and everyone remarks to themselves how much she looks like Craig.

“So there, Ashton,” she finishes.

Jenny gets bought so many drinks by the assembled guests that Craig and Luke have to assist her to her bed.

“I hate to say it, but she is right,” Craig tells him as they undress in Jenny’s guest room.

“I just didn’t want to be thick,” Luke says. “You know.”

“I know,” Craig tells him, and draws him down into the bed. He kisses him lightly along his neck, quick little kisses all the way to his ears. “I still think you’re the smartest man I know,” he whispers.

“I just would have liked to have made you proud,” Luke says, feeling a bit silly as soon as he says it, settling in to the embrace.

“You know, you impressed me long before I saw your lovely arse in the shower,” he tells him in the dark. “I always thought you were one of the few people I met who had real courage. I wouldn’t hang around moping for just any man who left me for a hot blonde,” he smiles, and Luke laughs. “Seriously, there’s no point doing this course if you’re not happy and you don’t want to do it.”

“So you won’t be disappointed if I drop out?”

“Nope. I don’t care what you do, as long as you’re happy. You can go goat herding if that’s what you want.” He means it too.

“Anyway, like Jenny said, you’re smart in lots of more important ways. Now lie down, and put your legs like this, and I’ll show you something Patrick was too stupid to learn.”

Luke takes his breath in a sharp burst of pleasure.

“How could anyone be too stupid to learn that?” he asks Craig later, as they lie together, sweaty and pink faced.

“Well, he wasn’t really,” Craig admits, “I just couldn’t be arsed showing him. So to speak.”

“Why not?” Luke is lying against Craig, curling his toes as Craig stretches and his broad chest hardens and expands.

“Same reason I never showed any of the others. I saved all my best moves for the man smart enough to make me love him the most.”

 

Things happen for a reason. Luke does discontinue to his course, but learns that he is entitled to an associate diploma in Social Work, based on the course work he has completed, and the accredited outside work he has undertaken. He is offered full time work at the Prisoner Rehabilitation Centre, and continues to take the occasional course to improve his counselling skills.

And, as the workload expands and he is involved in more projects, he makes a new friend, an American artist in residence who is interested in working with prisoners.

“He’s a really nice bloke,” Luke tells Craig one evening as they wash up. “His wife ran off with his brother. I feel really sorry for him. Anyway, I told him to have come to lunch with us this weekend. He can meet Gina and Jenny.”

“Are you match-making?”

Such a thought has not occurred to Luke. “No. He’s lonely, and I thought he’d like to have lunch with nice people.” He gives Craig a Look. “You know, you’re getting more suspicious as you get older, Gilmore.”

“Yeah, well, you’re getting sneakier as you get older, Ashton.” And he gives him a Look back. “What’s his name?”

“Lionel. I can’t remember his last name. I keep thinking Appalachian, but I know it’s not that. Something like that. Starts with A. He’s staying in some b&b in Dalkeith. He says they have giant slugs.”

“How giant?”

Luke holds his hands twenty-four inches apart, and Craig laughs. “Giant Scottish slugs,” Luke says, laughing with him.

“Oh, we’ve bigger ones than that at home,” Craig says. “Well, he could stay here, except Gina will be here on the weekend. And if you’re not match-making it would be inappropriate to put them in the same room.”

Lionel does, however, take advantage of another aspect of Craig’s hospitality. The shower at the b&b is the same as every shower in every b&b in the United Kingdom – it is lukewarm, and the water pressure is pitiful. He asks Luke, as a special favour, if he might shower at their place before they go to Lunch.

“Americans are very passionate about their showers,” Gina says to Craig as Lionel merrily lathers up under a hot torrent of blasting water.

“Scary Jenny’s here,” Luke says when he brings Gina a fresh cup of coffee.

She comes storming down the hall, complaining about the Scottish weather, the conference she has been attending in Aberdeen, the business meetings she has cancelled, stopping briefly to kiss her brother on the head before storming out of the bathroom. Craig considers telling her that perhaps she might wait, but before he can even get the words out Jenny shuts him up.

“Tell me in a minute – I’m busting.” So Craig smiles nicely at her, and waits.

“He can be a real bitch sometimes,” Luke smiles to Gina.

“Hello, nice to meet you,” Lionel says politely to Jenny as she stares at the naked American artist in her brother’s steamy’s bathroom. What a gorgeous woman, he thinks to himself.

It becomes a favourite topic at future Gilmore family dinners, how the two eldest children both met the loves of the lives naked in the shower.

***********************

“You’ve forgotten one,” Luke tells him as the lie side by side, measuring their hands against one another.

Craig, lining his thumb alongside Luke’s, looks indignant.

“How would you know? This is my theory.” He closes his thumb over Luke’s and traps it.

“What about the presents wire? You know, the presents we give each other?”

“Sounds like you’ve got your own theory,” Craig says lazily.

Luke’s just-a-small-token-of-my-affection wiring code

In keeping with the irregular time line this pair have established, the presents wires were set in place nearly two years ago when Luke went to Craig’s place armed with three excellent books – Perfume, Patrick Susskind’s marvellous fiction on the scent of things (which captivated Craig and his sensitive nose from the first page), James M. Cain’s novel The Postman Always Rings Twice (a book any good copper would enjoy) and the striking 101 Experiments in the Philosophy of Everyday Life, by Roger-Pol Droit (which is Craig’s favourite).

They agreed not to buy presents for their Christmas together since they had to spend it apart. Instead they spent a fortune buying a lot of fine food which they shared in their own private Christmas celebration. Their festivities culminated in an innovative and very satisfying application of sublime, expensive Belgian chocolate. 

For their second Christmas together, Craig (guided by the astute Jenny) won a lot of brownie points when he presented Luke with a black Agnes b pour homme leather coat and a black Pringle cashmere scarf. Luke gave Craig a pale blue cashmere blanket – which he treasured for the rest of his life – and a small sterling silver medallion of St David. (This was inspired by a story Craig had told Luke when they discussed their early schooldays. Apparently all the kids in kindergarten with Craig had medals of St David’s pinned to their vests. Craig always felt left out because he didn’t.) “Now you’re one of the gang,” Luke told him when he opened the gift. (Craig hooked the medal to his keychain, not to his vest as Luke insisted he should.)

On his 38th birthday, Craig wakes up to find Luke fastening a very plain and very beautiful Omega watch to his wrist. “Inspectors should have good watches,” he says as he kisses the sleepy face. 

They can never work out their exact anniversary, because they have so many. Eventually they settle on November 13th, because it marks the anniversary of the real starting point of their relationship. On their third anniversary, the Parliament is debating the Homosexual Marriage Bill, which would follow the lead of The Netherlands, Denmark, Switzerland and New Zealand in recognising the legality and sanctity of gay marriages. Craig marks the day by replacing Luke’s stainless steel nipple ring with a beautiful flat ring that is etched with three tiny diamond chips, and on the back their personal epitaph – mine, yours, ours, has been engraved in plain script.

“It can double as an engagement ring if they pass the Bill,” Craig tells Luke as he snaps the gold circle closed. 

On Luke’s 30th birthday, they are lying in bed after a mammoth meal and much cake, kissing passionately, working each other into a lather. On the bedside table is a pair of airline tickets to New York, which Luke thinks is the best present he has ever received from anyone.

A year and a bit later, when Luke unintentionally gives Craig a scare that reminds them both that you can never take anything for granted, Luke gives Craig a plain gold ring. Craig, who never wears jewellery, immediately slips it onto the fourth finger of his left hand and never takes it off again. 

In between and after there are love tokens ranging from books, music, theatre tickets through to small whimsical affirmations of devotions – cards, food and wine.

Luke stops short of buying Craig a green and gold rugby jersey after Australia wins the Rugby World Cup in 2008, but he happily wears the red jersey Craig gives him not long after they move back to London.

They keep everything, and end up with a history of their togetherness illustrated throughout their home.

***************************

“The sun’s coming out,” Craig says.

“Well, if this theory ever finishes we can go out and play,” Luke answers.

“It never ends. None of my theories do. They’re works in progress,” Craig smiles.

“Which means you’re making them up as you go along.”

“Well, that’s how relationships work,” Craig says. “You have to be flexible.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “I’d like to see that, you being flexible.”

“You’ll see me being flexible when we have drama. We’ll see how you cope, you, master of the knee jerk reaction.”

The great-big-scare wiring code.

They’ve been a couple for just on five years. Luke works full time as a policy officer for the Prisoner Rehabilitation Program, Craig has just been given his Inspector’s stripes.

Craig is busy. The project he started in Brighton such a long time ago has now been integrated into standard police practice, and in two days he’s travelling down to London to attend a conference called Criminal Minds: Handling The Evidence.

He is giving a paper on interview techniques.

For the past three weeks his mind has been consumed with this. Luke has been hovering on the outskirts, weary and listless, pale, tired, sleeping heavily. He seems to have lost a little weight, and he’s had a couple of night sweats. Craig, under a lot of pressure in his job, worried about having to speak in front of so many people, loses patience with him frequently.

“Go to the bloody doctor if you’re sick,” he says to him one weekend, as Luke lies weary on the couch. Peg is curled up on his feet, trying to get them warm.

“Yeah, I will, I’ll make an appointment on Monday.” But he forgets, and continues to ride his bike to work, thinking the exercise and fresh air will cure whatever he has.

“I thought we might go for dinner this Friday night, you know, to celebrate, when you get back,” Luke says to him a couple days later.

“I don’t know what time I’ll get back,” Craig says, distracted, not really hearing him.

“Well, I’ll cook something special,” Luke tries, trying to engage him. “Any requests?”

Craig doesn’t answer, instead continues to read over the last draft of his paper.

“Craig?”

“Sorry, you’re requesting what?” He looks up, slightly annoyed, trying to make it clear that he doesn’t want to talk.

“Nothing, I’ll talk to you later,” Luke tells him gently, and goes to lie down again.

“Would it hurt you to do the washing up?” Craig snaps when he gets home late the night before he leaves for his conference. Dishes are piled up in the sink.

“Sorry. I meant to. I’ve been so tired.”

“Yeah, well aren’t we all.”

Luke is apologetic, conciliatory, but Craig is distant and absorbed.

That night in bed Luke tries to press into his arms as Craig reads and checks his paper.

“Look, I have to get this done. When I’m back, okay?”

Luke looks at him with tired eyes, and just rolls over. He’s asleep when Craig turns out the light a few minutes later.

The next morning, before he leaves at six, Luke is still in bed, sleeping heavily. Craig leans over to kiss him goodbye and he stirs a little, smiling up at him.   
“Sorry, I meant to get up and have breakfast with you before you left,” he says, groggy.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you on Friday night,” he says a little coldly. He notices the pulse in Luke’s throat for the first time, but it doesn’t strike him as unusual.

“I love you,” Luke says, but Craig has already walked out of the room.

Craig thinks about this on his flight down to London. Not like him not to whinge about it, he thinks, and then the thought escapes him, overtaken by the convention and the paper.

“Oh, don’t you look handsome,” Gina says to him when they meet in the foyer. “Come and eat all the biscuits with me while I make you more nervous.” They move in amongst the crowds, all hovering near the table where the tea and coffee have been served.

“Sarge,” Amelia says pleasantly when she spies him amongst the participants, all trying to get a biscuit before Gina eats the lot.

“Sarge!” he says back to her, acknowledging her recent promotion. She works in Northern Ireland now, helping set up the CRIP project in Belfast.

The paper, of course, is incredibly successful. They ask questions for fifteen minutes, and to his astonishment Craig can answer every one.

He is disappointed at lunchtime that Luke hasn’t rung him. He turns his mobile off and then he goes to dinner with Gina and Amelia that night, he doesn’t bother putting it back on. You can talk to the voice mail, Craig thinks, miffed.

He softens a little when Gina walks with him back to the hotel, his panic of the last weeks dissolved, replaced by pride and relief. “I’m just going to check my messages,” he tells her. When he switches on his phone he is more than satisfied to see he has three voicemail messages waiting for him, and dials in, expecting to hear Luke’s voice.

Gina is smoking, leaning against a fence, watching Craig’s face grow more and more alarmed as he hears the messages. When she approaches to find out what’s wrong, he holds his hand up, his worry increasing by the minute.

“I have to get home,” he says, dialling another number as soon as he gets off the phone. “Luke’s in hospital.”

“What’s happened?”

“Hospital says he came off his bike, when they took him in they found he has some kind of heart disease,” he says, his voice terrified. “I’ve got to call his mum.”

Gina stands and listens as he talks to Luke’s mother.

“Christ,” Craig says. “Already?” His face is strained and terrified. “Is he all right?” He closes his eyes as he hears. “What kind of infection?”

And he remembers Luke, more and more tired, listless, sleeping like he was drugged, the carotid artery bulging in his throat as he said goodbye this morning. Telling Craig he loved him and Craig just walking out, distracted, pretending not to hear because he was still a bit angry with him.

“What?” Gina asks him urgently when he slowly closes his phone.

Craig can hardly construct his sentences. “He’s been really tired the last few weeks…apparently he just blacked out and fell off his bike just as he got to work…” he stops, still comprehending what he has just heard. “He’s having heart surgery tomorrow morning.”

“Christ!” Gina gulps, “He’s only thirty one!”

“One of his heart valves is infected. They have to replace it.” And then they just look each other, wondering what to do.

“When are they doing it?”

Craig grimaces. “Tomorrow morning. Apparently he’s in a bad way, they’ve put him at the top of the list.” The pain on his face is pitiful.

“Look, you could probably get a flight up there at five. I’ll get you to Stanstead.”

Getting back to Edinburgh was not the hard part, but being in the hospital was atrocious. The white walls, the harassed staff, the endless maze of corridors to the cardio-thoracic unit.

“You can’t see him,” the charge nurse tells Craig. “He’s already been given the first sedative, and he’s about to go into theatre.” She is cold and overworked and has little interest in Craig or Luke.

“I’ve been his partner for five years"

“I can’t let you see him,” she snaps, annoyed. “He already sedated, and the anaesthetist is already in there.”

“Is he alright?” Craig pleads.

“I haven’t seen his file.” She doesn’t look at him when she speaks.

“Is there someone who has I can talk to? Can I talk to a doctor?” Craig fights not to raise his voice.

She looks briefly at a duty file she is carrying. “The cardiologist will be around a minute. They’ll talk to you if they have time.” She stares at him, challenging him to make any more demands.

Craig is smoking with frustration and terror. “If it was my wife in there I bet you’d be a damn site more helpful,” he spits.

“You can wait over there,” she says, detached, but she knows what he says is true. And a few minutes later she sends the cardiologist over.

“It’s not uncommon,” Dr Bailey tells him. “But we have got it very, very late. I’m amazed he lasted as long as he did. Basically an infection latches on to a valve – it’s usually the mitral – and it weakens the actual structure of the valve very quickly. So the valve, rather than pushing the blood through the heart, leaks blood and splashes it back into the heart chamber.” She looks at Craig, and like all good doctors immediately assesses from his face whether he has understood or whether he will have to explain it another way.

“How did he get it?”

The doctor shrugs. “Could have been any number of things – an infected cut, strep infection in his throat – anything.”

“Will he be alright?” Craig wants to know.

“It’s a big operation,” the doctor says cautiously, “but we do a lot of them. You’d understand that all surgery has a mortality rate.” Craig thinks his own heart stops for a second. “But Luke’s young, his lungs are strong, he’s very fit. I never make any promises,” she says definitely, “but we don’t foresee any problems at this stage.”

“But he must be in trouble, if you’re doing it this quick,” Craig counters.

“His valve is very damaged,” Bailey agrees. “We did a cardiogram when he came in yesterday morning and we could see that straight away. We would have done it yesterday afternoon, but we had to send to Glasgow to get the right size valve. We didn’t have any on site.” Dr Bailey smiles kindly, trying to offer some comfort. “Luke’s got a big heart. But I suppose you know that.”

The thought very nearly makes Craig break in to tears.

“We’ll have to talk to you about his anti-coagulant management later,” Dr Bailey says, getting ready to leave. Craig looks further alarmed.

“Don’t worry, but he’s going to have to anti-coagulants – blood thinners – for the rest of his life. Thousands of patients do – they just have to get used to having their blood checked and their medication adjusted.” The good doctor sees how strained he is, and he wants to comfort him. “We find patients find it easier when they have the support of a partner,” she says. 

The unbearable wait is eased when a shy student nurse comes to see Craig while he suffers in a cold untidy waiting room.

“Craig Gilmore?” she says hesitantly. When he nods bleakly, she sits down beside him and folds back some papers on her clipboard. She is a prodigious note taker.

“I was helping with Luke’s care last night,” she says as formally as she can. “He told me to tell you that he’s okay and not to worry, and he hopes the paper went well.” Craig, she notes, is a text book example of the distressed relative. She pats his hand gently, and to her alarm he squeezes it tightly, groundless and ready to burst in to tears any second.

Open-heart surgery has come a long way in the last thirty years. Luke was in and out in just under three hours, and the ICU sister, who is good deal nicer than the charge nurse, lets Craig see him.

“Ninety seconds,” she warns. And you have to wear this. He doesn’t need another infection, so no touching him.”

Luke opens his bleary doped-up eyes for a few seconds, and sees Craig looking at him over the top of a paper mask. Funny, Luke thinks in his drugged stupor, but he can’t say anything because there is plastic ventilator pump fixed in his mouth through to his windpipe, and there is lots of anaesthetic is still present in his blood. He is trussed up with drips and catheters; bags of blood and cool clear liquids are being rationed into his veins, and there is a large white gauzy strip down the centre of his chest, where they have just wired his sternum shut. He’s covered with a thin aluminium sheet that is heating up his body, which cooled considerably when they diverted his blood.

The mask prevents Luke from seeing Craig’s lips move, trying to say something to him, but he can see his eyes. He tries to concentrate on them for a few seconds, but the effort sends his eyes back into his head and he falls asleep for another fourteen hours.

Lilly drives up to Prestonpans in her pink Kharmenghia after Craig calls her.

“Poor Spook!” she says with glittering tear-filled eyes. “Poor Sarge!” 

Every time Craig visits over the next two days, Luke has got a little better. First the ventilator goes, then the bags of blood, then the bladder catheter, but he’s always asleep or very groggy, metabolising the morphine they give him for the pain.

“Jesus Christ,” Jenny says from Boston. “Do you want to me to fly over?”

“No, not yet,” Craig says. “Lilly’s here.” She is certainly repaying any small kindness he ever showed her a hundred fold. She cooks, she cleans, she makes amusing biscuits. Nothing, however, eases Craig of his grief or his overwhelming guilt.

Early on the third day Luke wakes up properly to the sound of his own heart, clicking and thumping like a train. He feels very good.

He’s sitting up, pink and smiling, when Craig arrives a few hours later.

“Hello,” Craig says, “You’re looking better!” And he does, bright and clear.

“I had heart surgery!” Luke tells him proudly, and not without an element of surprise.

“I know.” Craig sits down next to him, and takes the hand that does not have a canula. He presses Luke’s knuckles to his lips and closes his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Luke says, touching the sad face with his canula hand.

“I know,” Craig says again. He holds the fingers to his mouth; they’re warm and soft. He wants to tell him so many things, and he doesn’t know how to say any of them.

“Wanna listen?” Luke suggests, hoping Craig will open his eyes. A kind registrar has left Luke a stethoscope to entertain his visitors; Craig has first audience with Luke’s new heart valve.

Luke gingerly lifts his shirt and Craig sees, for the first time, the long crimson stripe that runs straight down the middle of his gorgeous boy. The wound is held fast by a series of staples. The breastplate will take months to knit itself tight, and forms a slight V shape. It is as if Luke has buckled slightly. Underneath there are small red wounds where the draining pipes were fixed, and taped across his smooth flat belly is a tight coil of very thin wire.

“What’s that?”

“They’re my jump leads,” Luke answers delightedly. “If my heart stops, they plug those in to that thing” – he points to a small machine near his bed – “and it sends electrical impulses to my heart to get it going again.”

“Do you have to wear them forever?” Craig asks, slightly alarmed.

“Oh, no, they’re coming out this afternoon. Now go on, have a listen.” 

Craig is reticent to even touch him, let alone press the bell of the stethoscope against him.

“It’s alright,” Luke assures him. “It doesn’t hurt. Go on.”

“It’s so loud!” Craig marvels, listening to the crisp sharp click of the Starr Edward valve that has bought the colour and vitality back to Luke.

“Isn’t is great?”

“Everyone’s so worried about you,” Craig says when he takes the phones from his ears.

“I’m fine,” Luke says, and he really does it look it. “How are you? Sorry I missed hearing about your paper.”

Craig has actually forgotten about the paper. He touches Luke’s face. “I really thought I'd lost you,” Craig says finally, his eyes damp at the notion. He tries to elaborate on that, but all of the surrounding thoughts and issues it raises are so horrible he cannot begin to articulate them. Instead he leans over and gently kisses his cheek, grateful once again for having Luke in his life.

“Well, you didn’t,” Luke smiles, trying to lay on his side to face Craig, but his newly wired chest is complemented by a series of displaced muscles in his back, and movement is still incredibly difficult.

“Ouch,” he says to Craig, who stands up, leaning over him and then has no idea what to do.

“Don’t look so worried,” Luke says, cheerful. “I didn’t die, and I get six weeks off work. Maybe you could take a week off too?”

Craig gives him a loving version of The Look, because he has already applied for, and been granted, six weeks’ leave. 

“Hello, Spook!” Lilly says cheerily when Craig brings him home five days later. “I’m not going to hug you because I’m frightened you’ll split open again!!”

She has coffee waiting for them, and the house is filled with the scent of biscuits. They are, of course, heart shaped, and each one is decorated with a strategically place smartie.

“Operation biscuits?” Luke guesses.

“Mitral biscuits,” Lilly corrects him.

Lots of people come to visit the patient while he makes his remarkable recovery. Gina stays for three days, shuddering every time she catches a glimpse of the red gash on Luke’s chest, and enjoying her cigarettes less.

Luke’s mother follows, and, as she witnesses Craig’s gooey brand of nursing, is thrilled once more at her son’s choice of partner. 

When she’s gone, Jenny and Lionel stay for a few days. “We would have gone to a hotel but he doesn’t trust the showers,” Jenny explains. “Now let me hear your mechanical heart, Ashton.”

Luke’s grandmother, for no adequately explored reason, sends him a cat collar. It has been carefully covered with exquisite petit point flowers.

“She really wants us to have a baby,” Craig says, as he fastens the collar on Peg’s neck.

“Were you worried that I’d die?” Luke asks Craig after all the guests are gone and they have the house to themselves. Craig is getting ready to prick Luke’s finger with a small lancet, and test the tiny ball of blood in the portable Coagucheck machine that arrived that morning.

Craig looks straight in his eyes. “I was terrified that you were going to die. Terrified,” he says from his heart.

“Me too,” Luke admits for the first time. “But I thought about it, when I was waiting for them to put me under. I just decided that if I did die, and there is an afterlife, I’d wait for you on the other side.” He smiles at Craig, and holds his hand out to be jabbed.

Craig smiles back. “Well, that’s comforting, I guess.”

“Well, just remember, which ever one of us dies first, we’ll wait on the other side until the other one turns up. Okay?” He talks lightly, but Craig knows he’s not joking.

“Okay.” He pricks the fingertip quickly, and Luke squeezes the small drop onto a plastic disc on the machine. “Give me your hand,” he says to Craig.

“Ow!” Craig yelps when Luke pricks his finger. He softens when Luke presses his own bloody fingertip up against Craig’s miniscule wound.

“Blood brothers, “ Luke explains. “Saw it in a movie when I was a kid. I’ve always wanted to try it.”

“What does it mean, exactly?”

“Dunno,” Luke says, looking at their two bloody fingers. “But it’s kind of sexy, isn’t it?”

Craig looks at him seriously. “Dr Bailey said four weeks before you can find anything sexy.”

“Yeah, well, Dr Bailey obviously doesn’t have a blood brother,” Luke grins, his valve clicking fast and loud.

***************************  
The is-it-all-worth-it cord

While he has the experience and the maturity to second guess most of the kinds of cords that he and Luke need to place or manufacture in order to have a happy relationship, Craig has never been in a relationship long enough to get the stage where you wonder if it is worth all the pain and hard work.

It takes years to make that kind of evaluation.

It’s 6am, July 15th. The sky is already cream and blue, and there are heavy scented gillie flowers outside the window of the flat they own in Grove Park in London. 

Luke is asleep on his side, a pillow pressed up against his chest, and Craig has just woken up beside him.

It’s a big day today. Craig is about to wake Luke to tell him something important, but decides to do it gently rather than abruptly. He puts his hand lightly on Luke’s shoulder, and as he looks at his back, he remembers the first time he saw it, so long ago.

His memories of those first few months he knew Luke seem now like a theory, not like something he lived through and suffered over so keenly.

But then again, so many things have replaced them.

“Would you do all it all again?” Luke asked him on their last anniversary. “Would you go through it all again – from the first time you saw me – to now?”

There was no doubt. “Yep,” Craig told him without hesitating. “Would you?”

“Absolutely,” Luke smiled at him. “Everything.”

 

Craig now lightly rests his face between Luke’s shoulder blades, and after listening briefly to the sharp clicking of his heart he gently kisses the man awake.

“Hey,” Luke says softly, sleepily, rolling over to face Craig. They are so used to holding each other that that they no longer have to wriggle to get comfortable. Craig kisses the side of his face slowly, luxuriously, hooking him in lightly with his leg, and Luke meets him, hunting briefly for his lover’s mouth.

Craig leans his head back and looks at Luke, bright eyed and waiting.

“Happy forty-fifth birthday, darling,” Craig says.

************************

But back to Brighton on the Sunday morning, fifteen days after they found one another.

“Well we can’t sit around here mauling each other, if we have to get all these wires in place,” Luke says as they sit and cuddle on the bed.

“And I haven’t told you the half of them,” Craig teases, lightly swiping his lips over the lovely smooth throat. He wonders if he will ever get used to having Luke so close all the time.

“You know, Gilmore, I think I prefer your marmalade theory.”

“You didn’t understand my marmalade theory.” Craig sits back up and leans against the pillows. Luke sits in front of him, legs bent up, looking into Craig’s face. He hooks his arms around Craig neck, and Craig takes his weight by slipping his hands around Luke’s waist. It reminds Luke of something important.

“Do you remember my stag’s night? In the hotel?”

Craig gives him The Look.

“Well, of course you do,” Luke goes on. “Remember when we were sitting like this, and you put me down in the pillows?”

Craig nods.

“Did you feel it too? I mean…,”

“I felt it. I often wondered if you did.”

“I felt it,” Luke says, relieved. “I wondered if you did. I thought later I must have imagined it.”

Craig shakes his head. “I felt it,” he says again.

“What do you think it was?”

Craig shrugs a little. “I thought it was when we both realised how much we were in love. But then you went and got married, so I thought I was wrong.” He says this without a trace of bitterness or regret, because obviously it’s redundant now.

Luke nods. The shame and guilt has gone too. “That’s what I thought too. You know, that we both sensed it, sensed how big it was, without actually knowing it.” Luke thinks for a moment, and wrinkles his nose as he realises Craig is right again. “Like your marmalade,” he smiles.

Craig smiles back, struck by the expectation and hope that lights up Luke’s face. It occurs to him that this is the essence of Luke himself, not just a passing fancy of youth.

“Told you it made sense,” Craig says. 

Luke wrinkles his nose again, and leans a little further into Craig. So smart, so gentle, Luke thinks. He just gets better every minute I know him.

They look at one another appreciatively for a few seconds. The sun is now as bright as it will get on this November day, and for a few seconds yellow light fills the room.

His eyes have bits of topaz in them, Craig thinks. His skin is a sort of a honey colour, Luke thinks.

It was real.

“So, Sarge,” Luke says, moving in closer, wrinkling his nose again, “what’s your theory on this bit?”

“What bit?” Craig asks, wrinkling his nose back. It makes him look boyish, much younger.

“This ‘ere bit. Here, now, us on your bed in Brighton. What’s the theory on this bit?”

“Well, my gorgeous boy,” Craig beams at him, “I think this is the bit where we live happily ever after.”

 

© Baxter March-May 2003  
This one goes out to the one I love: dedicated to my own personal Gilmore - harbinger of vegemite on toast, protector of cats, always knows what I mean. Gorgeous boy! xxx


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